



Class. -El 6 iLp 

Bnnl c » A i i jkll 
CcpiglitK?.-C o py ^ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



















L 


PLAYS AND 
MONOLOGUES 


By Benjamin L. C. Griffith 



PRINTED PRIVATELY 


^6 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

APR. 25 1901 


Copyright entry 





COPY A. 


Copyright 1901 by The Penn Publishing Company 




< e ' . 



\ 

























































































































































Between the Acts 


A Comedy in Three Acts 










































- 


- 

' 











. 

* 

■ 


























, 





















































• - 


ARGUMENT. 


“Dick” Comfort lives comfortably upon an allowance given him 
by his Uncle Meander, upon the condition that he shall not marry. 
Despite his uncle’s wishes, he has fallen in love and married, being 
careful to keep the news from his uncle’s ears. 

He and his wife, Edith, have settled a few miles out of New York, and 
finding the time to hang heavy upon his hands, he occupies himself 
by writing a play, hoping thereby to win a prize that has been offered. 
This play he has completed, and all that is necessary is to revise it, 
which must be done by the evening of the day in which the story 
takes place. He has revised the first act and is taking a rest 
“ Between the Acts,” when the morning mail brings him a letter 
from his Uncle Meander, stating that he expects to arrive that very 
day to remain until the afternoon. 

What is to be done ? How is he to keep his uncle from seeing 
Edith, and so discover that they are married? 

He finally decides that the only thing for him to do is to play 
bachelor. 

He dispatches his wife to town upon an errand, having great diffi- 
culty in preventing his uncle from seeing her, who arrives just before 
she leaves. Shortly after George Merrigale, an old friend of Dick’s, 
arrives, having run out from town to spend the day. He also is not 
aware that Dick is married. Seeing a picture of Edith he inquires 
who is the original, and Dick informs him that it is a photograph of 
the maid-servant. This deception is kept up throughout the play. 

Later in the day Mrs. Meander, Dick’s aunt, comes from town. 
She is not upon very friendly terms with her husband, and so took a 
/ater train. Edith also returns, and not knowing Dick’s uncle and 
aunt, thinks Dick has sent her to town so that he could make love to 
another woman. The others take her for the maid, having been told 
so by Dick, and Merrigale misunderstanding a remark that Harris, 
the man-servant, has made, thinks Dick is not only married to his 
maid, but has another wife beside. He tells this to Meander, who 
is furious, and after an interview with Edith, dismisses his own wife, 
whom he does not recognize, and thinks is the other woman. Edith 
assists him in making peace with Mrs. Meander, and she is so sorry 
for mistrusting Dick that she willingly forgives him. Meander also, 
although blaming Dick, who is heartily sorry for the way he has 
acted, forgives him for Edith’s sake, whom he pronounces “a 
jewel.” 

He tells Dick to continue writing plays for an amusement if he 
will, but when he is in need of the wherewithal to sustain life tq 
draw upon him “ Between the Acts,” 




TIME IN REPRESENTATION. 
Two hours and a quarter. 


COSTUMES. 

“ Dick ” Comfort. — O rdinary suit. 

George Merrigale. — ist, Traveling suit, spattered with 
mud ; 2d, Masquerading costume. 

Alexander Meander. — Old gentleman’s walking suit. 

Harris. — Man servant suit. 

Mrs. Clementina Meander. — Old fashioned dress, black 
bonnet, shawl, etc. 

Mrs. Edith Comfort. — ist, House dress ; 2d, same with 
bonnet, etc. 

Sally,— Servant’s dress, 


PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Letter for Comfort, which he is discovered reading ; 
a quantity of paper, writing materials, and cabinet photograph 
on table ; newspaper for Meander ; cigar for Merrigale to 
smoke ; boxes for Harris to enter with. 

Act II. — Dusting-brush for Harris ; money for Comfort to 
give Harris ; handkerchief for Merrigale ; bag for Sally. 

Act III. — Newspaper for Merrigale ; glass of water on 
table for Comfort. 


4 


CAST OF CHARACTERS. 


“Dick” Comfort, married , yet single. 
George Merrigale, an unfriendly friend . 
Alexander Meander, Dick's uncle . Blamed 
but blameless. 

Harris, Comfort's man-servant. 

Mrs. Clementina Meander, Dick's aunt. 

Blameless , but blamed. 

Edith Comfort, Dick's wife. “ Unknown , un- 
honoredy and unsung !' 

Sally, Mrs. Meander s Maid. 


Act I and II— Morning. Act III — Afternoon, 
stage directions. 


R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

The player is supposed to face the audience, r., means right; 
l., left; c., centre; r. c., right of centre; L. c., left of centre; 
d. f., door in flat or scene across back of stage; r. d. ( right door * 
l. d., left door. 


5 




BETWEEN THE ACTS, 


Act I. 

SCENE. — Handsomely furnished drawing-room in Dick 

Comfort’s house. Comfort discovered standing by ta- 
ble , reading letter attentively. 

Comfort ( after pause ) What shall I do? Here is a 
letter from Uncle Meander, stating that he is coming to 
spend the day. When he told me, four years ago, that I 
should be his heir and that he would allow me $3,500 a year 
during his lifetime, I raised no objection whatever ; in fact 
the idea rather pleased me. But there was to be one con- 
dition — that I should never marry. I had no desire to marry 
then ; that was four years ago. But one can’t help falling 
in love ; ( pointing to himself ) at least this one couldn’t. 
Who wouldn’t fall in love with Edith ? And ever since 
Edith and I were married, six months ago, I have been 
in constant fear and trembling lest Uncle should hear of it. 
This visit will upset all my calculations. He will discover 
the truth and then my chances of succession will vanish. 
What is to be done ? (Reads letter ) “ Will arrive Thurs- 

day morning ” — that is to-day — “ and will be compelled to 
leave by the afternoon train.” The afternoon train goes 
at four o’clock. ( Thoughtfully ) Now, if I could prevent 
a meeting between Edith and Uncle Meander ; if I could 
play the part of a bachelor, just for to-day — by George ! 
I have half a mind to try it ; that is my only chance ; my 
last hope. I’ll do it. But what is to be done with Edith ? 
(Enter Mrs. Comfort, d. l.) 

Mrs. C. Dick (Com. starts ), won’t you take a drive with 
me this morning ? 

Com. My dear Edith, I — I fear I am too busy this 
morning. 

Mrs. C. You do not appear so. 

Com. Well, in this case, appearances are deceitful. 1-^1 

7 


8 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


am devoting myself to-day to the revising of my comedy. 
It has to be sent in to-morrow, you know ; that’s why 
I am working so hard. I have just finished making the 
necessary corrections in Act I, so I thought I was en- 
titled to a few minutes rest. 

Mrs. C. Oh ! I wish you had never begun to write your 
old play. Suppose you should win the prize, what good 
would it do you ? 

Com. But, my dear Edith, think of the fame. 

Mrs. C. And of what use would that be to you ? Would 
it help you remember your wife ? Would you think of her 
happiness any more than you do now ? 

Com. No, not more than now, for you know that to see 
my wife happy is my greatest wish. I would enjoy a drive 
in your company, far more than working all day, but duty 
before pleasure, you know, work before play. 

Mrs. C. But your play is before everything. 

Com. And yet, it is not recreation. My play is work — 
very hard work, too ; but, on the other hand, my work is 
all play, so it is the combination of these two evils that 
makes me, in your eyes, a dull boy. But I — I am very glad 
that you intend to take a drive. It is such beautiful weather ; 
suppose you drive into town and spend the day with your 
mother. 

Mrs. C. Why, I wouldn’t get home until late this after- 
noon. 

Com. {half aside) Yes, I know. 

Mrs. C. Besides, I spent all last week in town. No, 
unless you will go with me, I shall not take a drive 
to-day. 

Com. But, my dear Edith, there is a little commission 
I want you to execute for me in town. I — I need some 
paper, in fact, I must have it, or I can’t finish my play to- 
night. 

Mrs. C. You have plenty of paper; look here. {Take s 
up a quantity of paper from table) 

Com. {confused) Yes — but — a — but this is not the right 
kind. 

Mrs. C. What kind do you wish ? 

Com. Oh ! any kind will do ; buy all kinds. 

Mrs. C. But Dick, can’t Harris purchase it, just a3 
well as I ? 

Com. No, no, you are the only one that can do it, that is 
to say, you are the one I wish to go to town, I — I — mean — 
oh ! {earnestly) Edith, if you love me, do go. 

Mrs. C. Very well, my dear, if you wish it ; but I shall 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 9 

take the train, it is too long a drive. How much paper 
shall I buy ? 

Com. Oh ! any amount ; I shall need a great quantity ; as 
much as you can bring home. (Aside) The more she pur- 
chases the longer it will take her. 

Mrs. C. (aside) Poor boy, he is so nervous ; he has 
been working entirely too hard. 

Com. ( looking at watch ) Nine o’clock! You will just 
have time to catch the train. I shall order the carriage to 
take you to the depot. (Calling) Harris ! 

Mrs. C. But, Dick, the train doesn’t leave until nine 
thirty. 

Com. Yes — you can just make it, no more. (Calling) 
Harris ! 

Mrs. C. There is plenty of time. (Exit Mrs. C. d. l.) 

Com. (calling loudly) Harris ! (Enter Harris d. f.) 

Har. Did you ring, sir ? 

Com. (sharply) No, I didn’t ring, but I have been calling 
you for the last half-hour. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. Order the carriage immediately. 

Har. Yes, sir. (Aside) His honor is in good spirits this 
mornin’. (Exit Harris, d. f.) 

Com. If Edith will only leave before Uncle Meander 
arrives all will be well (takes up MS. from table) Here’s 
my comedy ; two acts yet to revise before to-night. Oh ! 
why did uncle choose to-day for a visit ! I will be too busy 
to entertain him, he must amuse himself. I suppose I had 
better work while I have the opportunity (sits at table) 
Let me see, Act I is completed ; I am glad of it. Now for 
Act II (takes up pen , stops as if listening) Carriage -wheels ! 
Can it be Uncle Meander (rises and goes to window in 
back of stage) ! By George ! it must be he ; that is the 
hack from the depot. Now what am I to do ? 

Mrs. C. (calling frojn without) Dick ! 

Com. (coming down stage) Yes, my dear; no hurry; 
there is plenty of time. (Aside) I must resort to desperate 
measures (locks door l.) There, she is caged. (Enter 
Meander d. f.) 

Mean. Well, Richard, my boy, here I am. 

Com. Ah ! uncle ! I am delighted. You’re looking as hale 
and hearty as ever, I see. 

Mean. Yes, never was in better health. You needn’t 
hope to get rid of me for many years, although, no doubt 
you wish it, you young rascal (digs him in the ribs). 

Com. (deprecatmgly) O uncle ! 


to 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


M£an. Well, Richard, it has been four years since last 1 
saw you. You’re not married yet I hope. 

Com. ( nervously ) Married ! The idea of my marrying. 
Oh ! no I— 

Mrs. C. ( calling from without ) Dick! 

Com. ( coughs violently). 

Mean. Did any one call ? 

Com. ( confused ) No, oh! no! that’s only the parrot. 
(Aside) How shall I prevent them from meeting ? v To 
Meander) Uncle, you must be very tired after your 
journey (taking him by the arm) : I am sure you would like 
to rest awhile (leading him toward d. r.) Come ; right in 
here. 

Mean. ( hesitatingly ) But, my dear boy, I really do not 
feel fatigued. 

Com. Oh ! yes ; I am sure you do. 

Mrs. C. (calling from without) Dick! 

Com. (nervously) The parrot, only the parrot; speaks 
very plainly, doesn’t it ? 

Mean. Do you keep it in a cage ? 

Com. Yes, oh! yes; she is caged! I — I mean it is. 
Right in here, uncle (pushes him into room r., shuts door and 
locks it). Now he's caged. What shall I do with them ? 
I will dispose of Edith first (goes to d. l. and unlocks it 
carefully). Edith, my dear, you must make haste. (Calls) 
Harris ! (Enter Mrs. C. d. l. Dressed ready to go out.) 
You will lose the train. (Enter Harris d. f.) 

Mrs. C. But, Dick, you said there was plenty of time. 

Com. So there was, but — a — there is no time now. ( To 
Harris) Harris, is the carriage ready 

Harris. It is at the door, sir. 

Com. (sharply) That’s what I asked you. ( To Mrs. C.) 
Good-bye, my dear (kisses her). You won’t return until 
this evening, will you ? No, that’s right ; I won’t expect 
you until then. (Mean, pounds upon door.) 

Mrs. C. What’s that ? 

Com. (confused) Oh ! that’s — a — that’s only the dog. 

Harris. No, sir ; I just seen the dog down — 

Com. Keep quiet ! do you hear ! I’ve had enough of 
your impudence this morning. (To Mrs. C.) Good-bye, 
Edith (kisses her again). Spend the day at your mother’s. 
Good-bye (hurries her out d. f. ; exit Harris d. f.) 

Mean, (pounds on the door and calls) Richard ! 

Com. The dog is becoming noisy; Edith left just in 
time. ( Unlocks door R.) Why, uncle, what is the matter ? 
C Enter Mean. d. r.) Did you lock yourself in ? 


BETWEEN 'int ACTS. 


11 


Mean, {with suppressed temper) Lock myself in! No. 
certainly not ! how could I, when the key was on the out* 
side ? 

Com. {holding key in hand ) So it is. It was a mistake. 
Harris must have done it ; what a stupid fellow he is ! I 
have given instructions that these doors be always kept 
closed, and Harris, with his natural craving to obey orders, 
must have locked you in. 

Mean. Well, your servant’s yearning to be obedient was 
misdirected in this case ; see that it does not occur again. 

Com. {half aside ) I hope there will be no necessity. 

Mean. There was no necessity this time. 

Com. {quickly) No, of course not, of course not. 

Mean, {suspiciously) By the way, Richard, I heard a 
woman’s voice ; whose was it ? 

Com. That was the parrot. 

Mean. But the parrot is not in this room. This was a 
woman — I am sure of it ; she was talking to some man. 

Com. {confusea) Oh ! it — I mean she was — Harris, you 
know — the maid talking to Harris. {Earnestly) But, uncle, 
you couldnt’t understand what they said, could you ? 

Mean. No, not perfectly. I thought I heard the man 
say “ good-bye.” 

Com. That was to the maid, you know, she was going 
to spend the day in town. 

Mean. Then the man spoke of a dog ; do you keep 
dogs ? 

Com. Oh ! yes, about a dozen. 

Mean. A dozen dogs and a parrot ! You seem to be 
fond of the animal kingdom. Any others ? 

Com. Not that I can think of at present. You see, I — I 
live such a quiet and retired life I find it necessary to have 
some companions. 

Mean. You evidently believe in quantity before quality. 
I am glad that your companions are chosen from among 
the brute creation, from the animals that are blessed with 
being created dumb ; there is a kind of animal — about which 
I have often warned you — whose oratorical powers are very 
great. In that animal’s eyes we men are considered as 
members of the brute creation. 

Com. {deprecatingly) O uncle ! how very ungallant. 

Mean. It’s true nevertheless ; take your servant for ex- 
ample — {enter Harris, d. f.) — with all his dumbness he is 
far superior to — 

Har. Mr. Comfort, sir ! 

Com. {turning) What do you mean, you rascal ! 


12 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. There’s a gent — 

Com. Silence ! 

Har. Yes, sir, but — 

Com. Did you hear me ? 

Har. Yes, sir, but Mr. Marygal told me to — 

Com. Merrigale ! George Merrigale ! 

Har. I don’ know, sir; but he just arriv’. 

Com. Why didn’t you say so ? 

Har. I was attemptin’ to, sir, but — 

Com. You’re too confounded slow. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. Show Mr. Merrigale up immediately — now don’t 
ask me “ when ” — immediately ! ( Exit Harris, d. f.) 

Com. ( To Mean.) George is an old friend of mine, un- 
cle ; I haven’t seen him for a year. ( Aside suddenly recol- 
lecting) Deuce take it all ! He knows all about my mar- 
riage ; he will ruin me. {Aloud) Uncle, you didn’t half 
rest yourself did you ? {taking him by the arm) Come, take 
another nap. 

Mean. But I feel no need of rest. 

Com. Then take a walk over the grounds ; I know you 
will enjoy it ; right out this way. {Leads him toward r.) 

Mean. No, Richard, I would far rather remain. {Enter 
Merrigale, d. f., clothing spattered with mud) 

Mer. Ah ! Dickie, my boy. I’ve come in the shape of a 
little surprise ; it is a surprise, isn’t it ? 

Com. Yes, I must confess it is. 

Mer. I knew it. Haven’t seen you for nearly a yeai, 
have I ? How am I looking, eh ? 

Com. A trifle seedy. 

Mer. Eh ! I knew you would say so. You must excuse 
my good looks ; {pointing to mud) these beauty marks were 
gathered along the road. 

What a deuced slow place you have out here, old fellow •; 
I had to walk all the way from the depot. Only one cab, 
and some old duffer took that, so I had to foot it {seeing 
Mean, aside) By jove! there he is. {To Comfort) Pre- 
sent us, old man. 

Com. {aside) There is no escape. ( To Mean.) Uncle, let 
me introduce an old friend of mine, Mr. Merrigale. 

Mer. The honor is mine, sir. 

Mean, {crossly) I never claimed it. 

Mer. Quite right, sir. {Aside) Dick’s uncle ! A — Mr. 
Comfort, I suppose. 

Mean, {with dignity) I consider the title which you have 
just applied to me very inappropriate, sir. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. I3 

Mer. You mean, “ old duffer ”? Oh ! don’t let that 
make you uneasy ; you couldn’t help it, you know. 

Mean, {aside) A very forward fellow. 

Com. {anxious to get Mer. out of the room ) George, I 
know you would like to change your clothes. 

Mer. Why, I’ve scarcely had time to shake hands with 
you yet, old fellow {takes his hand). I am stopping in 

for a few days, and thought I would just run out and 

see an old friend. Too slow out here for me, though. I’d 
petrify in a few days. Ah ! Dickie ! we don’t have the lively 
times we used to, do we ? What a gay bird you were ! 

Com. Perhaps I was before I — ahem — 

Mer. Married, eh ! 

Com. {coughs violently). 

Mer. Don’t be bashful, old man ( looking around). 
Where do you keep her ? I never saw her, you know ; left 
home just after the engagement was announced and went 
to India. 

Com. {coughs again). 

Mer. Bad cough that, old man. 

Mean. Mr. Merriwind, may I ask to whose engagement 
you were referring ? 

Com. {aside) It is all over with me. 

Mer. Certainly, sir. To Dick’s ; sly dog, isn’t he ? 
Always was a gay sort of a chap, you know, but I never 
thought he cared for the ladies. The first I knew, he was 
engaged. 

Mean. Richard, you told me nothing of this {sternly). 
Have you deceived me, sir ? 

Com. O uncle ! pray spare my feelings. 

Mean, {aside) He appears agitated. {Aloud) Was the 
engagement broken off? Did it end as most of these love 
affairs do ? 

Com. Yes, sir — it — a — it came to a sudden end — about 
six months ago. {Aside) I was married then. ( To Merri- 
gale) George, won’t you please go and change your 
clothing? 

Mer. Certainly, old chap, but — a — this is the only suit I 
lave with me. 

Com. I will lend you one. {Calling) Harris! 

Mer. Awful sorry for my mistake, old man. 

Com. A very natural one, but — a — please make no 
more. {Enter Harris d. f.) {To Harris) Harris show 
Mr. Merrigale to my room. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. George, I think I left one of my suits on a chair ; 
you can wear that while yours is being cleaned. 


14 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


(. Exeunt Harris and Merrigale d. l.) 

Mean. Now, Richard, explain matters! Why did you 
not notify me of your engagement ? 

Com. 1 confused) Well, uncle, I — I — I can hardly tell 
you were away at the time, you know. 

Mean. Did you end the engagement or the girl ? 

Com. It was by mutual consent ; I — I think perhaps I 
was the more anxious of the two. 

Mean. I am very glad that it did end. You know that 
a wife would only make trouble between us. 

Com. Yes, I know. 

Mean. Never let me hear of your marriage, or — you 
know the consequences. 

Com. I am doing my best and I assure you, uncle, that 
ever since my — a — my — engagement came to an end I 
have never once thought of another woman. 

Mean. That’s right, Richard ; you show your good 
sense. What time does the next train arrive from town ? 

Com. ( looking at watch ) There was one due a few minutes 
ago. 

Mean. That is the one my wife was to take. 

Com. ( surprised ) Your wife! Not Aunt Clementina! 

Mean. Of course ; how many wives do you credit me 
with ? 

Com. But you said nothing about her coming. 

Mean. Didn’t I mention it in my letter? That was a 
great oversight. She stopped in town ; said she would 
come in the next train. 

Com. (aside) I seem to be holding a reception to-day. 

Mean. In case, Richard, you notice anything peculiar 
in my actions toward your aunt, do not be alarmed ; we 
have had a little misunderstanding and at present do not 
speak. 

Com. That’s too bad. 

Mean. Oh ! no ; it’s a little pleasantry on her part, that’s 
all. You may perhaps think it affectation, but through force 
of habit it has become a second nature. And, by the way, 
should she inquire if you “ know who that individual is ” — 
which means me — it would be just as well for you to plead 
ignorance. 

Com. What do you mean ? You want me to act as if 
you were a stranger ? 

Mean. Oh ! no, that will be unnecessary. Just tell hei 
— if she should ask the question — that you do not know 
me. She will like you all the better for it and it won’t hurt 
my feelings in the slightest ; that is another second nature. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


15 


But if you do not object, we will drop the subject of wives* 
Richard. 

Com. Willingly, sir. 

Mean. That parrot of yours — is it a Chrysotis or an 
Erithacus ? 

Com. ( bewildered) Just a — a plain green one, sir; a talk- 
ing one, you know. 

Mean. I should like very much to see it. {Enter Harris 
d. L.) 

Com. {confused) I — I am very sorry, but — 

Mean. No butting, Richard, your man can bring it. (To 
Harris) James, bring the parrot. 

Har. {surprised) The which, sir? 

Mean. The parrot. 

Har. I — I am afraid, sir — 

Com. {quickly) Afraid! of what? bring the bird in^ 
stantly. 

Har. You mean the stuffed one in the library, sir? 

Com. Stuff and nonsense ! the one in the — a — the right 
wing. 

Har. {bewildered) Ye-es, sir. 

Com. Be quick now, and don’t return without it 

Har. Yes, sir. {Exit d. f.) 

Mean. Have you more than one parrot ? 

Com. Oh ! yes, half a dozen ; I — I quite overlooked the 
others. {Enter Mer. d. l., dressed in clown's costume .) 

Mer. Is this the best you could do for me, old man ? 

Com. Why what in the deuce have you got on ? 

Mer. That is more than I can tell you. This is the suit 
I found on the chair. Your man took my suit before I had 
a chance to look for yours ; then it was this or nothing. \ 
preferred this. 

Com. I am glad you gave it the preference. But I 
didn’t mean that suit. That is a masquerading costume. 
{Beginning to laugh ) George you look like a perfect clown. 

Mer. And so I am — I — I — mean — say Dickie, it is 
hardly kind to dress me up just for your own amusement. 

Com. {still laughing) Forgive me, old fellow, but do take 
off those ridiculous garments. 

Mer. Oh ! I quite enjoy them ; makes me feel young 
again, you know {dances to table , sees photograph of Mrs. C. 
and examines it\ 

Mean. {To Com.) He acts young; childish, I should 
call it. 

Mer. I say, Dickie, who is she ? Deuced fine looking 

girl. 


i6 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Com. (aside) My wife’s photograph ! (coughs violently 
then quickly) As I was saying, uncle, I am exceedingly 
fond of parrots, in fact, I make them a specialty. The green 
ones are my favorites, I think ; they are so — a — so green, 
you know. 

Mer. (coming down stage with photograph in hand) Who 
did you say she was, Dickie ? Any relation ? 

Com. (feigning ignorance) Relation ! Who ! What ! 

Mer. Why this stunning looking girl (showing photo- 
graph to Mean, and digging him in ribs) A beauty, eh ! 

Com. (looking at photograph) Where did you find that ? 

Mer. On the table ; who is she ? 

Com. (at a loss what to say) She — it, I mean — no — that is 
to say she is — a — the maid-servant, only the maid-servant. 

Mer. Maid-servant! By jove, she is far too good look- 
ing for a maid-servant (handing photograph to Mean.) What 
do you think of that, eh ? (digs him in ribs) looks like a 
princess in disguise, don’t she ? 

Mean. But, Richard, how comes a picture of a maid- 
servant on your sitting-room table ? I do not admire your 
taste. 

Com. I really don’t know ; I — I suppose Harris must 
have left it there. No doubt she gave it to him and he for- 
got it. 

Mean. A very careless fellow. 

Com. Yes, very. 

Mer. (gazing at photograph ) What’s the fair creature’s 
name, Dickie ? 

Com. ( hesitating ) A — a — Sallie. 

Mer. Pretty name ; can’t we see her, old man ? Come, 
now, trot her out. 

Com. Impossible ! 

Mer. Oh ! do now. 

Com. Impossible, I tell you. She has gone to town. 
(Aside) I have told more lies to-day than is good for my 
health. 

Mer. When will she return ? 

Com. (sharply) It appears to me, Merrigale, you take a 
great interest in my — my maid. 

Mer. I do. 

Com. (aside) I am becoming positively afraid of that 
man’s questions. A few more and he will discover — 

Mer. I say, Dickie, can’t you tell me — 

Com. (interrupting) No, I can’t. I — I am very sorry, but 
'—a — not now, there is something that requires my atten- 
tion. (Aside) That’s another lie ; I am getting in over my 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


17 


head ; it will be best for me to withdraw from this man’s 
cross-questioning, until he changes the subject. {Aloud) 
Gentlemen, I hope you will excuse me for a moment; I 
shall return presently. {Exit d. l.) 

Mer. It’s a shame that such a clipper of a girl should 
spend her days as a maid-servant, don’t you think so ? 

Mean, {sharply) I don’t think anything about it. {Takes 
newspaper from pocket , sits and reads.) 

Mer. I knew you would say so ; of course you don’t 
think anything about it ; neither do I, we know it. How 
would you like to live in solitude as a maid-servant, eh ? 
( Waits for reply) Just imagine yourself a maid-servant ; you 
wouldn’t like it, would you ? Of course, I mean, if you were 
accustomed to better things {confused), that is to say, I — I — 
mean — {looks at Mean., who pays no attentiori) {aside) I 
hardly think it is worth my while to mean anything ; he 
doesn’t appean to be interested. {A pause) {sitting). This 
is rather slow. {E?iter Harris d. f., closely followed by Mrs. 
Mean, and Sallie.) 

Har. Mrs. Clementina Meander, sir! (Mean, starts , 
hut continues to read paper. Mer. rises.) 

Mrs. Mean, {screams) Sarah, what is that creature ! 

Sal. One of thim ring circus clowns, mum. 

Har. If that ain’t Mr. Marygal, disguised. {To Mer.) I 
won’t tell her who you are, sir. 

Mer. Disguised ! Nonsense ! I am Mr. George Merrigale, 
madam, at your service. 

Mrs. M. {patronizingly) I think you can hardly be of 
any service to me, my man. 

Har. This is Mr. Comfort’s friend, Mr. Marygal, mam. 
( To Mer.) I thought you were disguised, sir. 

Mrs. M. Mr. Comfort’s friend ! 

Har. That’s what I remarked, mam. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, did he say Mr. Comfort’s friend ? 

Sal. Indade, thet’s jist what he did said, mum. 

Mrs. M. {half aside) What must his enemies be like ! 
{Exit Har. d. f. laughing ) 

Mer. Madam, I am exceedingly sorry that I should have 
caused you and your daughter any annoyance. 

Mrs. M. My daughter! This is my French maid. (Sal. 
curtesies , Mean, begins to whistle) 

Mrs. M. {starts) Sarah, who is that individual ? 

Sal. Sure an’ I don’t know, mum ; sounds like some 
whistlin’ stame dummy. (Mean, appears insulted and stops 
whistling) 

Mer. That’s Mr. Comfort, Dick’s uncle, you know. 

2 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


l8 


Mrs. M. Comfort ! Sarah, did he say Comfort ? 

Sal. Indade he did, mum. 

Mrs. M. A blackbird may think it is disguised by call* 
ing itself an eagle, but I am not to be deceived ; I know 
a blackbird when I see one. .(To Mean.) Do you hear 
me ? 

Mer. Oh ! yes, I — I hear ! of course you do. {Aside) 
What is she talking about ? 

Sal. And I know a blackbird, too, mum. 

Mer. Certainly ; so do I. (Aside) There is nothing so 
very remarkable about that. (To Mrs. Mean.) I will pre- 
sent the gentleman, madam. (Mean, appears uncomfort- 
able^ 

Mrs. M. Stop ! young man, you know not what you are 
about to do. 

Mer. Oh ! yes’m, I do ! 

Mrs. M. That — that person and I are strangers. 

Mer. Yes, I know, but — 

Mrs. M. And I prefer that we should remain strangers. 
( To Mean.) Do you hear me, sir ? Strangers forever ! 

Mer. I — I beg your pardon. I — I do not wish to force 
his acquaintance upon you. I think, however, you would 
find him a pleasant companion, but, of course, just as you 
please. (Aside) Seems a little eccentric. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, he knows my wishes upon the subject, 
does he not ? 

Sal. Iny common, horse-sensed individual would, 
mum. (Mean, starts whistling .) 

Mrs. M. That — that creature is making those peculiar 
noises again ; they give me the shivers. 

Mer. (To Mean.) My dear sir, won’t you postpone youi 
music until a more auspicious moment ? This lady 
seriously objects. (Mean, continues to whistle. Enter 
Comfort d. l. 2.) 

Com. Ah ! my dear aunt ! 

Mer. (aside) Dick’s aunt ! 

Com. I have not kept you waiting long, I hope. 

Mrs. M. (embracing him) A very long time, Richard ; a 
very long tifne. 

Com. But I feel confident that my friend Merrigale has 
entertained you. 

Mrs. M. Your friend! Is he indeed your friend! (To 
Sal.) Sarah, have my ears deceived me ? I understood 
him to call this — this person his friend. 

Sal. Yez eared aright, mum, “ me frind” is jist what he 
was sayin’. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


19 


Mrs. M. O Richard ! how low you have fallen. Alas ! 
how true it is, “ a man is known by the company he keeps.” 
I little thought your friends would be found among circus 
clowns and — a — horse jockeys. (Mean, controls laughter 
with difficulty) 

Mer. But, my dear madam — 

Com. Why, aunt, you do not understand. Mr. Merrigale 
is neither a horse jockey nor a clown, but a gentleman of 
leisure. His clothes were so dirty that I insisted upon his 
wearing one of my suits, but by mistake he put on a 
masquerading costume. Looks funny, doesn’t he ? ( Laughs 
and is joined by Mean.) 

Mean, (aside) The idea ! took him for a circus clown ! 
Served him right though. 

Mrs. M. (with dignity) It seems strange that a gentle- 
man of means, such as you hold your friend to be, should 
wear unclean clothing, and I cannot imagine why you 
should have in your possession such a costume. (Meander 
laughs) Richard, who is that individual ? 

Com. That ! why you know, that’s — (suddenly recollect- 
ing ), I — I — I really don’t know, aunt. 

Mean, (aside) He just saved himself. 

Mer. (aside) What’s Dickie talking about ? 

Mrs. M. I am pleased that you do not know him ; he 
has done nothing but insult me ever since I entered the 
house. 

Com. Insult you ! 

Sal. Thet’s jist what I belave he has bin a -doin’, as we 
all on us knows. 

Mrs. M. He is very objectionable, Richard; please see 
that he is removed. (Mean, whistles) 

Com. (haughtily) Would you be so kind as to absent 
yourself, sir. (Aside to Mean.) Uncle, you’ll find some 
choice cigars in the smoking-room. 

Mean, (rising) I never smoke, but I shall withdraw from 
this apartment with great pleasure. (Exit d. r.) 

Com. George, I know that you are partial to a good 
cigar — 

Mer. Yes, your knowledge is correct ; you know my 
veakness, and if you will excuse me, I will join your uncle, 
[Exit d. R.) 

Mrs. M. (throwing her amis around Comfort) O 
Richard ! my life is not a happy one ! 

Sal. Nor moine, nather. mum. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, you will refrain from those unnecessary 
remarks. 


20 


BETWEEN THE ACTS, 


Sal. I — I was mainen on account of *im, mum , and 
sayin’ yez a-pinin’ yez own swate silf away, mum. 

Mrs. M. Yes, alas ! it is too true ! Here, Sarah, take 
my hat and shawl ( gives them to her . Beginning to cry ) 
I am pining myself into a shadow ; I am so ill-treated. 

Com. That’s too bad. Do you have many — many quar- 
rels ? 

Mrs. M. ( crying ) Their name is legion. 

Sal. For they are many. She quarrels with ’im all the 
toime, sor. 

Mrs. M. ( sternly ) Sarah ! / never quarrel. 

Sal. In course yez don’t, mum ; it’s ’im thet quarrels. 

Mrs. M. ( throwing her arms around Com. and laying her 
head on his shoulder) I am so ill-treated that I have not 
where to lay my weary head. 

Com. (aside) She appears to have had practice some- 
where. 

Mrs. M. Even my husband considers me a burden. 

Com. (aside) She is a trifle heavy. 

Mrs. M. I have become in his eyes his servant ; a mere 
dependent. 

Com. (aside) She acts like a hanger-on. 

Mrs. M. Ah, Richard, if you were married, you would 
understand. 

Com. (starting) Married ! ha-ha, the idea of my marry- 
ing. (Enter Mrs. C. d. f.) 

Mrs. M. But you will marry some day. (Enter Mean. 
a?id Mer. d. r., Mer. smoking.) 

Com. But I am not married, nor have I any desire to be. 
(Mrs. C. screams'. ) 

Mrs. M. (turning) Richard, who is this woman ? 

Com. (confused) Oh ! that — a — she — you know — she is 
my — my maid-servant. (Enter Har. d. f. carrying boxes , 
Mrs. C. leans against him.) Tableau. 


Act II. 

SCENE. — Same as Art I. Boxes piled by table. Harris 

discovered dusting. 

Har. I can’t understand it. The governor never acted 
like this before; leastwise not since I’ve knowed him. 
He must have somethin’ on his mind — that is, on part of 
his mind — I’m afear’d the t’other part h’aint there. ( Tapping 
his forehead ) I’m afeared he’s just a little queer kinder, as it 
were. The idea of blamin’ everything on me, when I never 
done nothin’ ; and then talking about parrots and one thing 
an’ another ; tellin’ me go fetch the parrot in the right wing 
an’ not to come back until I done it. Dog me cats ! I’d 
never have got back at all if it hadn’t a-been for the missus, 
an’ them boxes. ( Looking at boxes by table ) Just look at ’em ; 
I had to carry ’em up-stairs two at onct, and it warn’t no 
easy job, nuther. Wonder what’s in ’em? {Examines.) 
{Enter Com. d. l.) 

Com. ( sharply ) Harris ! (Har. starts) Leave those boxes 
alone ! 

Har. Yes, sir; I was goin’ to — when you came in — 

Com. You were going to do nothing of the kind. ( Goes 
to tablet) 

Har. Goin’ to do what, sir ? 

Com. {angrily) Leave the room ! 

Har. No, sir; I warn’t. 

Com. Leave the room, do you hear ! 

Har. (- meekly ) Yes, sir {aside) I’m afeared he’s a little 
touched in the ’ead, as it were {going). 

Com. {calling) Harris! 

Har. {stopping) Yes, sir. 

Com. {sitting) You may think that I have been acting in 
— a — a somewhat peculiar manner to-day. 

Har. Seein’ as it were you, sir, I didn’t think nothin’ on it. 

Com. {angrily) What! 

Har. I — I mean, sir, it warn’t for me to think. You can 
act as it pleases you, sir. 

Com. Oh ! I can ? 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. (dryly) Thank you. 


31 


22 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. {surprised) Sir! 

Com. I said, “ Thank you.” 

Har. Yes, sir. {Aside) I’m sure I don’t know what 
he’s thankin’ me for. 

Com. Perhaps I may have blamed you for one or two 
little things that you did not do. 

Har. If I might be so bold, sir, I will say, that now you 
speak on it, perhaps there was one or two little matters that 
I didn’t hexactly know what your meanin’ were. 

Com. {thoughtfully) Yes, perhaps there were, but — 
they were necessary. 

Har. Yes, sir. {Hesitating) A-a might I ask, sir, what 
parrot I was to fetch by the wing, as it were ? 

Com. Never mind the parrot, Harris ; it is an unpleas- 
ant subject. {Gives money) Here, take this. 

Har. {aside) He is certainly crazy. 

Com. And be sure and say nothing to the other servants 
of this conversation. Now you may leave the room. 

Har. Thank ye, sir. {Exit d. f.) 

Com. What a dumb-head that fellow is. By George ! 
here’s my play ; I had forgotten it. My rest, between the 
acts, has been a long one, but it can hardly be called a rest ; 
never worked harder in my life. Since I started upon my 
diplomatic career — we will give it the benefit of the doubt 
and call it diplomacy — I have told so many lies that now 
they come without my assistance — in fact, they almost say 
themselves, and I have great difficulty in keeping them 
back. They are cheap, but very useful; the question is 
whether I won’t have to pay for them some day. I am 
afraid the bill will be a large one, for I keep a running 
account. Now that Edith has returned, my ingenuity will 
be taxed to its utmost. How in the deuce did Edith get 
back so soon ? She must have bought the paper in the 
village ; I’ll wager the stationer made his fortune. I have 
said nothing to her since her return; haven’t had the 
chance, and I can’t say that I desire one. {Enter Mrs. C. 
d. f., goes toward d. l.) Com. (rising) By jove ! the chance 
has come {getting in her way). My dear Edith, I — 

Mrs. C. {very haughtily) Sir! 

Com. {stepping aside quickly) I — I merely wished to in- 
juire if you — you had paid the freight on these boxes. 

Mrs. C. I have no reply to make. {Exit d. l.) 

Com. Phew ! I feel crushed {sits at table) {trying to laugh) 
Ha-ha-ha- ; I don’t care ; it’s a good joke {laughing very 
weakly) ha-ha {picks up pen) I must work {starts to write.) 
Mer entering d. r. on tiptoe, still in clown's costume.) 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


*3 


Com. ( throwing pen on floor) Confound it ! I have no 
ideas. 

Mer. Shew ! That’s nothing new. Don’t make such a 
noise, old man ; you’ll waken him. 

Com. Waken whom ? 

Mer. Your uncle ; I left him in the smoking-room, trying 
to raise the roof. My, how he does snore. I was telling 
him one of my best stories, too, and would you believe it, 
he fell fast asleep. 

Com. That was only natural. 

Mer. Very unnatural I call it. The story was good; 
about a man, you know, that — 

Com. (mterruptmg) Sorry, George, but I am very busy to- 
day, please postpone your interesting tale. 

Mer. Well, I want — 

Com. No stories, George ; (aside) I have a monopoly on 
stories. 

Mer. All right then, some other time ; but I want to 
ask you about that maid-servant, I would like to — 

Com. (angrily) Hang the maid-servant ! 

Mer. Hang her ! oh ! no, I — 

Com. Then shoot her ! 

Mer. Why, Dick, old fellow, what ails you ? 

Com. Nothing. (A pause) If you really must know the 
truth about her I suppose I will have to tell you. (Aside) 
Now for another lie. (To Mer.) She is a relation of 
mine. 

Mer. Oh ! that accounts for your interest in her. 

Com. My interest ! It strikes me you show the more in- 
terest of the two. 

Mer. But how is it that she is in your employ as a ser- 
vant? 

Com. (hesitating) Well — she is not exactly my maid. 

Mer. Your housekeeper perhaps. 

Com. (quickly) Yes, my housekeeper. (Aside) Why 
didn’t I think of that before. (To Mer.) She was poor 
and alone in the world, you know, so I thought it was only 
charitable to give her a home. I tell you this, Merrigale, so 
that in case you notice any familiarity on her part toward 
me you will understand. 

Mer. Yes, certainly. I knew she was not an ordinary 
;ervant; and, by the way, old man, I’m afraid you hurt her 
feelings by calling her a maid ; these poor relations are of- 
ten very sensitive, you know. 

Com. It was rather unkind, I admit. (Aside, looking ofl 
d. l.) Byjove! here she comes. I must keep them from 


24 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


meeting. (To Mer.) George, quick, hide yourself! {Taking 
his arm) Here, back of this screen ! 

Mer. What’s the matter, old man ? 

Com. My — my housekeeper is coming. 

Mer. I don’t mind meeting her. 

Com. Yes, but I — I wish to apologize to her, and I would 
rather do it without your assistance. Make haste ! (Pushes 
Mer. back of screen ) (Enter Mrs. C. d. t. — Com. leans 
agamst table and looks in another direction .) 

Mrs. C. (after pause, pleadingly) Dick! 

Com. Please don’t call me Dick. You know I never 
like you to call me by my first name before company, I — I 
mean when we have company. 

Mrs. C. Why, Dick! 

Com. There you go again. 

Mrs. C. You know I always call you “ Mr. Comfort ” 
before people, but (> looking around) — but there’s no one 
here. 

Com. (quickly) Of course there isn’t. (Nervously) Who — 
who said there was ? 

Mrs. C. Oh ! won’t you tell me what is the matter ? 
What have I done ? Are you ill ? 

Com. No, certainly not. 

Mrs. C. Then why do you act so strangely ? Why did 
you call me a maid ? 

Com. That was a mistake, a lapsus lingua — I — I am 
sorry. 

Mrs. C. Won’t you kiss me and tell me you love me ? 

Com. (coughs nervously) Why, of course not ; I — I 
couldn’t do that. 

Mrs. C. ( beginning to cry) Don’t you love me, Dick ? 

Com. (aside) What will George think of this? (To 
Mrs. C.) Now you mustn’t act that way. We have talked 
this matter over before, and you know my feelings toward 
you perfectly well ; it would not only be utterly useless for 
me to tell you that I loved you, but— a — but under the cir- 
cumstances, ridiculous. 

Mrs. C. (stopping crying) I see it all ; you do not love 
me. You sent me out of the house so that you could make 
love to another woman. Who was that woman ? (Becom- 
ing excited) You are afraid to tell me. 

Com. You ought to know who she is. 

Mrs. C. You have forgotten the woman you once loved. 
You have forgotten her whom you promised to — 

Com. I promised nothing ; you are talking nonsense, 

Mrs. C. Oh ! of course, you say so. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 25 

Com. I am perfectly willing to tell you who the lady 
was. 

Mrs. C. I do not wish to hear. 

Com. But I want to — 

Mrs. C. I won’t listen to you {goes toward d. l.) 

Com. But you must. 

Mrs. C. I won’t. {Exit d. l., shuts and locks door.) 

Mer. {coming from behind scree?i) Has she gone ? I’m 
glad you hid me, old fellow. 

Com. {dryly) So am I. 

Mer. She appeared slightly agitated; what have you 
been doing to worry her so ? 

Com. Nothing whatever ; it is simply a woman’s whim. 

Mer. Ah! that accounts for it; I never could under- 
stand these women. But say, old man, don’t you think you 
are a little hard on her, she seems very fond of you. 

Com. {indifferently) You think so ? 

Mer. Yes, judging from appearances. 

Com. That’s just the trouble. I don’t object to her being 
fond of me — in fact, I rather admire her taste — but I don’t 
like her to show it. {Aside) Not to-day at least. 

Mer. But don’t you think you ought to make some 
allowance ? Perhaps she is naturally of a suspicious nature, 
and possessing a deep feeling for you — as her benefactor 
you know — she is jealous when you show attention to 
others. 

Com. But I am not attentive to others. 

Mer. Perhaps not, Dickie, perhaps not ; you used to be, 
you know. 

Com. {angrily) Confound it ! Merrigale, I know more 
about this matter than you. 

Mer. Well you ought to. 

Com. {aside) I wish I didn’t. {To Mer.) And your advice 
is not asked or wanted. 

Mer. Now, don’t get angry, old man; no offense in- 
tended, I assure you. 

Com. Well, please drop the subject, once and for all. 

Mer. Certainly, if you wish it. {Enter Harris d. f.) 

Har. The man wants to know, sir, how long he has to 
wait before you pay him, sir. 

Com. What man ? 

Har. The man ’as brought them boxes, sir ; he’s waited 
ever since he came. 

Com. Of course he has, you idiot. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. I didn’t ask him to wait. 


26 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. Nor me neither, sir. 

Com. Why didn’t you tell me before? Send him up;btM 
no, I will go down. (Aside) I don’t want the fellow to blur! 
out anything about my wife, before Merrigale. (Exit Com 
D. f.) 

Mer. Harris, where is Mrs. Meander ? 

Har. I don’t know, sir; fightin’ with her husband, I 
reckon. * 

Mer. Her what ! 

Har. Her husband, sir; maybe you thinks as Mrs. 
Meander hadn’t a husband, but she has. 

Mer. I don’t understand this. 

Har. There ain’t nothin’ to understand. 

Mer. Who is her husband? Not Dick’s — I — I mean 
Mr. Comfort’s uncle ! 

Har. Why, in course ; she’s his aunt. 

Mer. But why did she change her name ? 

Har. (chuckling) I guess that’s what he often wonders, sir. 

Mer. (aside) This is very singular ; why does she take 
the name of Meander instead of Comfort. If I could only 
have a talk with that charming housekeeper, perhaps she 
could explain matters; there is certainly some mystery 
about Dick’s relations. 

Mer. (To Har.) I would like to have a few moments’ 
conversation with the housekeeper. 

Har. ( surprised ) The housekeeper! We ain’t got no 
housekeeper, sir ; the house keeps itself, except when Mrs. 
Comfort keeps it. 

Mer. Mrs. Comfort ! You don’t mean the old lady ? 

Har. That aint for me to say, sir, although I believe Mr. 
Comfort does call her that sometimes (laughs). 

Mer. But I didn’t know she lived here. 

Har. Not live here ! She’s here most of the time, sir. 
except when she’s away. She stays in town sometimes, sir. 

Mer. (aside) No wonder Dick is worried; I suppose 
these two women quarrel all the time. (To Har.) Where 
is the maid ? I wish to see her. 

Har. The maid, sir ! 

Mer. (sharply) Yes, the house-maid ; you seem surprised 
at everything I say ; Sally, I think her name is ; I thought 
she was the housekeeper. (Aside) These servants am 
always jealous of one another. 

Har. Sally ain’t no more the housekeeper than I am, 
sir. 

Mer. Well, whether she is or not, 1 wish to see her; 
*ell her to come here. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 27 

Har. Yes, sir. {Aside) What’s he want with Sally 1 
wonder. {Exit Harris d. l.) 

Mer. Very mysterious, very! {Enter Mean. d. r.) 
{Aside) Here comes old Comfortable, evidently just 
awakened. {To Mean.) Well, sir, did you succeed ? 

Mean, {sharply) Succeed ! Succeed in what ? 

Mer. In raising the roof; I left you hard at work. Youf 
efforts certainly merited success. 

Mean. Your words are meaningless. You left me very 
abruptly, interrupting my remarks in an extremely rude 
manner, sir. 

Mer. {laughing) Ha-ha-ha, what are you talking about ? 
It was you who interrupted my remarks. You snored so 
loudly that I had to stop my story — it was a good one, 
too. 

Mean. Snore ! I never snore, sir ; never ! 

Mer. {sarcastically) Of course not ; I suppose you never 
fall asleep either. You were not napping in the smoking- 
room, were you ? 

Mean. Certainly not, sir ; certainly not. No doubt you 
were asleep yourself. 

Mer. Yes, no doubt, and dreamed that I was you ; what 
nonsense ! All I have to say is, that if what I heard isn’t a 
sample of your snoring powers, I don’t care to hear one 
{Aside) Thunder storms always frighten me. {To Mean.) 
No wonder you and your wife are always quarreling. 

Mean, {angrily) How dare you make slighting remarks 
in reference to my family affairs ! You know nothing about 
such matters. 

Mer. No, I’m a bachelor. 

Mean. That accounts for your ignorance ; how true it 
is, “ He jests at scars who never felt a wound.” {ATusingly) 
A bachelor ! How sweet the word sounds. Young man, 
in order that you may learn never to jest about matrimonial 
affairs, I will tell you a story. {Sits.) 

Mer. You wouldn’t listen to mine. 

Mean. Yours was told to provoke laughter and mirth, 
mine teaches a good and wholesome lesson. 

Mer. {aside) Evidently nothing witty is to be expected 
{sits). 

Mean. The story is a sad and doleful one ; short, but fuli 
of pathos. 

Mer. {aside, taking out handkerchief) The prospect, i* 
gloomy. 

Mean Long ago — {musingly) How long it seems 

Mer. How long ago did you say ? 




BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mean. I did not say. Long ago, a young man, then a 
the age of thirty-five. 

Mer. {aside) A mere child. 

Mean. Met an attractive young widow— 

Mer interrupting) Fell in love, they were married and 
lived happily ever after ; moral, always marry widows; 
those stories are all alike. 

Mean, {with dignity) You will be kind enough not tQ 
interrupt. It is true, the young man fell desperately in 
love. 

Mer. {half aside) Of course, they all do. 

Mean. His love was returned — 

Mer. C. O. D. ? 

Mean, {angrily) Your jesting is exceedingly malapropos, 
sir. You will kindly allow me to finish my story in my own 
way. 

Mer. Certainly, sir, this is your story. 

Mean. You seem to have forgotten the fact. As I re- 
marked, the young man’s affection was reciprocated. 

Mer. {aside) The widow was evidently a Republican. 

Mean. They were married, but contrary to all expecta 
tions, they did not live happily. 

Mer {aside) An exceptional case. 

Mean. The wife did her utmost to provoke the hus* 
band’s wrath. 

Mer. Of course the wife was to blame for everything. 

Mean. Certainly, sir ! for everything ! 

Mer. {sarcastically) They always are. 

Mean. Always. She had been so accustomed to manag- 
ing her first husband — who was an invalid — that she ex- 
pected “ number two ” to yield everything also. 

Mer. But “ number two ” thought differently. 

Mean. Yes. sir, very differently, /fe doesn’t yield every 
thing ; oh no ! far from it {Rises.) 

Mer. That is certainly a tale of woe. 

Mean. ( impressively ) Young man, I stand before you the 
living example of what an unhappy married life will do. 
{Slowly and solemnly) I married that widow. 

Mer. Well, judging from appearances, I should hardly 
Sail you a happy man. 

Mean. Far from it, and yet I have my happy moments. 

Mer. Impossible ! 

Mean. These quarrels with my wife are only occasional, 
and when the eagle of gory war has taken his flight ana 
the white dove of peace once again hovers over our lives^ 
then we are happy as oi, yore. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


29 


Mer. Well, if. I were you, I would wring that gory ea- 
gle’s neck and cage the dove of peace ; then you could keep 
it by you. 

Mean. Your metaphors are mixed. 

Mer. Perhaps they are ; I don’t often dabble in meta- 
phors. ( Enter Mrs. M. d. l.) 

Mean. Many times have I regretted that I ever married. 
I was a young fool then. 

Mrs. M. Yes — you’re older now. (Mean and Mer. 
start .) 

Mer. {aside) Now for a scene. Perhaps I can prevent 
one. {To Mrs. M.) Madam, your husband was just speak- 
ing of you. 

Mrs. M. {dryly) Yes, I heard it. 

Mer. But — a — madam, you misunderstand; I meant 
favorably of course, favorably. 

Mrs. M. It sounded so. 

Mer. He was saying how sad he felt that husband and 
v/ife were always quarreling. 

Mean. I said nothing of the kind, Merriblow. 

Mer. Well — of — a — of course not those words exactly, 
but — a — they — had that meaning, I’m sure they had. 

Mrs. M. Young man, I am not in need of an interpreter, 
my hearing is still good, and I wish to say, that the name 
denoting foolishness, is, in my opinion, very appropriate to 
this — this person ; if he had called himself an idiot, he would 
have spoken the truth also. 

Mean. Merriblow, she is a good judge of idiots. 

Mrs. M. I ought to be. 

Mean. That’s so, she ought to be. 

Mer. My dear friends, this is terrible, do try to control 
yourselves. 

Mean. I have no doubt I was an idiot when I married. 

Mrs. M. And never got over it. 

Mean. Ha-ha. I suppose you, I mean she, thinks that 
awfully funny. 

Mrs. M. He seems to enjoy it. It is exceedingly ap- 
propriate for nobody to laugh at nothing. 

Mean. She calls herself “ nothing ; ” I was trying to laugh 
at her. 

Mrs. M. He couldn’t find a better subject. 

Mean. No, not to laugh at. {Enter Comfort d. f.) 

Mer. My dear, sir, for the love of peace, do be calm ; 
these remarks will only create trouble. {Sees Com.) Ah* 
Dick, do try and pacify your uncle and aunt, they have 
been — a-~been misunderstanding each other. 


30 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mrs. M. You were not asked to interfere, sir. 

Mean. The matter does not concern you in the least. 

Mer. Thank Heaven, there is one point upon which you 
agree. 

Mer. ( aside to Com.) Dick, can’t you reconcile them ? 

Com. ( aside to Mer.) Suppose you withdraw and I will 
try the part of peacemaker. 

Mer. ( aside to Com.) I wish you luck ; I will go clothe 
myself in my own garments — they must be ready for me by 
this time — these are becoming a little too monotonous. 
{Exit Mer. d. l.) 

Com. Uncle Meander, wouldn’t you like to go in the 
smoking-room and — 

Mean. ( interrupting ) No, I wouldn’t ; I don’t smoke, I 
told you, and I have spent far too much valuable time in 
that room for one day. 

Com. Weil, then, one of these other rooms {pointmg to 
the left). 

Mean. No, that is the enemy’s country. 

Mrs. M. Richard, there is no necessity for him to with- 
draw ; I consider my time too valuable to waste here. 

Com. My dear aunt, I do not wish to disturb you, 
I— 

Mrs. M. It will be a pleasure to go ; there are some un- 
pleasant remembrances, Richard, which one is glad to leave 
behind. {Exit Mrs. M. d. l., haughtily .) 

Mean. That cut was meant for me. {Laughs weakly .) 

Com. {after pause) Uncle, don’t you think it a pity that 
you and Aunt Clementina quarrel so continually ? 

Mean. Yes, Richard, I am willing to confess I do think 
it a pity. But we do not quarrel continually, oh no ! only 
occasionally. This happens to be a little stronger than 
usual, that’s all. Still, I think it a pity, a great pity. 

Com. Then why do you do it ? 

Mean. I don’t ; it isn’t my fault. 

Com. Oh ! that’s always the way ! 

Mean. Yes, always. 

Com. Adam started the fashion by blaming Eve, and 
ever since then husbands have been unwilling to think 
themselves in the wrong. 

Mean. Then it is Adam’s fault. 

Com. I’ve no doubt you are to blame just as much as 
Aunt Clementina. 

Mean. Well, perhaps you are right. I do not enjoy 
being at enmity with my wife, but — a — 

Com. But you do not know how to alter matters ? I’ll 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 3 1 

tell you. Go to Aunt Clementina, tell her that you are sorry 
for what has happened and — 

Mean. ( interrupting ) Oh ! I couldn’t do that 

Com. It is the only way. 

Mean. Imagine my telling her I was sorry; the shock 
would kill her. 

Com. Oh ! no, not so bad as that, although no doubt it 
would be a surprise. 

Mean. I should say so. 

Com. A pleasant one, though. Come now, uncle, prove 
to her it is the unexpected that always happens; that 
there is something new under the sun. 

Mean. Richard, my boy, I believe you are right. ( Taking 
his hand ) I’ll try it. You ought to be a married man ; I 
believe you would make a good one. 

Com. ( eagerly ) You think so. 

W!ean. But, you’re not married, and I guess it’s just as 
well. ( Enter Sally d. f.) 

Sal. I come as soon as I could lave my work, sor. 

Mean. ( angrily ) Who asked you to come at all ! In my 
opinion the sooner you “ lave ” here the better. 

Sal. I knows thim as doesn’t ask ye’re opinion. ( To 
Com.) I was informed thet there circus clown was after 
wantin’ to say me, sor. 

Mean. Well, he’s “ after wantin’ to say ” you now, so, 
Sally, you may leave the room. 

Sal. Me name’s not Sally, me name’s “Sarie” in 
Frinch. 

Mean. I don’t care what you’re name is in “ Frinch n 
or Chinese or any other language ; it’s Sally in English. 
( Enter Mrs. M. d. l.) 

Mrs. M. Sarah, go pack my bag instantly! 

Sal. Why, mum, I thought — ■ 

Mrs. M. No matter what you thought ; instantly ! do you 
hear ! 

Sal. Yes’m, I ’ears. ( Exit d. l.) 

Mean. My dear Clementina, I want to — 

Mrs. M. ( snappishly ) Hold your tongue, sir ; how dare 
you call me by my maiden name ! 

Mean. ( aside to Com.) Now, whose fault was that ? 

Com. ( aside to Mean.) Don’t you see she is in a temper? 

Mean. ( aside to Com.) That’s nothing unusual. 

Com. {aside to Mean.) You ought to speak to her when 
she can listen to reason. 

Mean, {aside to Com.) She never can. 

Com. Not now, while she is excited. (To Mrs. M.) My 


32 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


dear aunt, why do you wish your bag packed ? You are not 
going to leave, are you ? 

Mrs. M. ( sarcastically ) Oh ! certainly not, I expect to stay 
forever. 

Com. (aside) I hope not. ( Aside to Mean.) Uncle, I think 
you had better retire, until the storm blows over ; come 
with me into the garden. (To Mrs. M.) Aunt Clementina, 
you will excuse us, while I show>uncle the grounds ? 

Mean. Just as you think best Richard, I shall go and get 
my hat. (Exit d. r.) 

Mrs. M. I think a little air would do your uncle much 
good. 

Com. (aside) It is easy enough to play the part of a sign- 
post and point the way of peace to unhappy couples, but 
unfortunately the sign-post remains in the same spot. I 
wish some one would show me the way to peace with my 
wife. (Enter Mean. d. r.) (To Mean.) Are you ready, uncle. 
(Exit Mean and Com. d. f.) 

Mrs. M. I can’t endure it, and I sha’n’t endure it. I shall 
not remain here to be insulted. He treats me shamefully, 
outrageously ! Poor dear Mr. Barnes never treated me so. 
And then he blames me for everything when it is always his 
fault. If he would only acknowledge that he is in the wrong 
I could forgive him, but unless he does, we shall be 
strangers forever. (Enter Mrs. C. d. l.) 

Mrs. C. (not perceiving Mrs. M.) I must see him. 

Mrs. M. (sharply) See whom ? 

Mrs. C. (starting — aside) That woman here ! 

Mrs. M. (aside) Sarah should have packed my bag by 
this time. (To Mrs. C.) Just run up to my room and tell my 
maid I wish to see her, will you ? 

Mrs. C. (haughtily) I am not accustomed to receive com- 
mands from strangers. 

Mrs. M. (sarcastically) Oh ! you are not ? (aside) We’ll 
see as to that. (To Mrs. C.) What difference does it make 
whether I am a stranger to you or not ? As long as I am 
in Mr. Comfort’s house and — 

Mrs. C. What right have you to be here ? 

Mrs. M. What right! You are impudence personified! 
I have every right ! What business is it of yours ? 

Mrs. C. (quietly) I think Mr. Comfort has made it my 
business. 

Mrs. M. Made it your business ! it’s- false ! go, do as I 
bid you immediately ! do you hear ! 

Mrs. C. And what right have you to give me orders ? 

Mrs. M. Mr. Comfort has certainly given me a right. 1 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 33 

am a very dear relation of his ; ( half aside) I am sure his 
dearest relation. 

Mrs. C. It isn’t true ! you came here just to make 
trouble ; you can’t deny it ! you are trying to win his affec- 
tion from me ; but you can’t succeed, he loves me, and me 
alone. 

Mrs. M. Loves you! (aside) The girl must be crazy. 
( To Mrs. C.) Come, I have heard enough ; I shall report 
what you have said to Mr. Comfort. You are presumptuous 
beyond all words ! 

Mrs. C. (excitedly) You shall not remain in this house 
another moment ; go ! go I say ! Leave instantly ! (calling) 
Harris ! 

Mrs. M. Do you, a mere servant, a common maid, dare 
to address me in this manner! I shall report you im- 
mediately ; we will see which one shall leave ; you or I — 
we’ll see. (Exit d. l.) 

Mrs. C. That woman shall leave, (calling) Harris ! (Enter 
Har. d. f.) 

Har. Yes, sir, I — mean ma’am. 

Mrs. C. Where is Mr. Comfort ? 

Har. In the garding, watchin’ the rosebugs, as it were, 
ma’am. 

Mrs. C. Tell him I wish to see him right away. 

Har. He’s showing the old gentleman around the ground, 
ma’am ; pointin’ out the beauties of the spot, as he said, 
ma’am, the perspective on one thing an’ another, as it were. 

Mrs. C. Did you hear me ! I desire to see him im* 
mediately. 

Har. Yes, sir, I — I mean ma’am. (Aside) I’m ateared 
we’re goin to ’ave a squall. (Exit d. f.) 

Mrs. C. Dick must send her away, or I shall go. Can 
it be that he no longer loves me ? That he cares for this 
other woman ? I hate her ! I never was so unhappy in all 
my life ; but sooner than remain and see him make love to 
another, I will separate from him forever. I will if it kills me ! 
( Throws herself into a chair and cries.) (Enter Sally d. l. 
—bringing bag) 

Sally (throwing bag on floor) There’s her auld packed 
bag. I’m jist wurked to dith, thet’s what I am. (seeing Mrs. 
C.) Yez lazy crature ! settin’ round a’ doin’ nothin’. Where’s 
Mr. Comfort? (Mrs. Comfort stops crying) What yez 
cryin’ about ; yez big blubberin’ baby yez. Where’s Mr. 
Comfort, I asked yez ? 

Mrs. C. ( wiping her eyes) How dare you speak to me 
*0 ? 


3 


34 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Sally. How dare me! ha-ha — did yez iver hear the 
loike of that ! how dare me ! I dare spake to yez or iny 
other man loike yez, jist as I think bist, an the sooner yez 
know that, the bitter it’ll be for yez. 

Mrs. C. ( rising ) Leave the room instantly ! 

Sally. An’ thet’s jist what I’ll do, but not from iny of 
yez tellin’ me. I’m glad to git out of the soight of the loikes 
of yez. I’ll tell on yez, niver be afeared of thet ! 

Mrs. C. Leave, do you hear ! 

Sally. The missus will know that yez wouldn’t till a 
•eddy where Mr. Comfort were ; yez great big overdressed, 
blubberin’ baby yez. Why don’t yez driss loike a female 
maid thet yez be, an’ not be a-puttin’ on airs loike a leddy 
thet yez aren’t. I’ll tell on yez ! {Exit d. l.) 

Mrs. C. What does this mean ? 

Sally ( without ) Git out of me way, yez circus clown yez 
{Enter Mer. d. l., dressed in own suit.) 

Mer. {looking off d. l.) A very impudent maid ! there ii 
too much French about her, that’s the trouble ; now if she 
were only Irish she might not be so exuberant and — a — 
and hilarious. {Seeing Mrs. Com. confused) I — I beg your 
pardon, madam, I — I should say miss; I beg your pardon; 
do I — do I intrude ? I — I was looking for Dick — Mr. Com- 
fort, you know. {Aside) What a refined looking girl. 

Mrs. C. I expect Mr. C. here presently ; may I — may 1 
ask your name ? 

Mer. Certainly, ma’am, certainly. {Aside) Charming man* 
ners ; Dick is a brute. {A pause) 

Mrs. C. And pray what is your name ? 

Mer. Merrigale, madam, I — I mean miss, Mr. George 
Merrigale. 

Mrs. C. Mr. Merrigale! why I have frequently heard 
Mr. Comfort speak of you ; you are an old friend of his; 
are you not ? 

Mer. I flatter myself to that extent. 

Mrs. C. {hesitating) Then as a friend, perhaps — perhaps 
you will tell me whether you have noticed anything peculiar 
in his actions to-day ; do you think he has been working 
too hard ? 

Mer. Yes, no doubt that is it ; been working too hard 
of course ; hard work will tell on the best of us, you know; 
I never could stand it. {Aside) I think Dick is going crazy 
myself, but it wouldn’t do to tell her so. 

Mrs. C. He has been acting so strangely toward me, 
ever since early this morning ; he has never been this way 
before. I was beginning to fear that he cared for — that it 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 35 

was some other — trouble, but it can’t be that, oh no ! it can’t 
be that It must be overwork. 

Mer. Of course ; Dick always was a hard worker. 

Mrs. C. You — you never thought — I — I mean you never 
noticed that he — he cared for — I should say, was attentive 
to any woman, did you ? 

Mer. Well no, not recently ; but to speak the truth, Dick 
was once very much in love with — 

Mrs. C. In love ! with whom ? 

Mer. ( quickly ) Oh ! that was sometime — a very long time 
ago. Some think he got over it, in fact, he himself told me 
only to-day that he cared for no woman, but I do not 
believe it. I know more about this matter than people 
imagine and I have overheard some things which make 
me certain that Dick loves her still. 

Mrs. C. ( excitedly ) It’s false, sir ! I do not believe a word 
of it ; you know it is untrue ! 

Mer. (aside) By jove ! what an idiot I am to tell her this. 
(To Mrs. C.) No, of course not, certainly it isn’t true. I’ve 
no doubt the whole story is entirely without foundation 
(Enter Mrs. M. d. l.) 

Mrs. M. So you refused to tell my maid where Mr. Com- 
fort was, did you? You shall pay for it! I shall seek him 
myself, and when I find him you shall leave the house. 
(Exit D. F.) 

Mrs. C. (half aside ) That woman again! she maddens 
me ! ( To Mer.) Tell me, who is she ? do you know ? 

Mer. Why, that’s Mrs. Comfort! 

Mrs. C. Mrs. Comfort ? you are deceiving me ? 

Mer. No, I am sure of it. 

Mrs. C. It’s not true ! I am Mrs. Comfort. 

Mer. (astonished) You , Mrs. Comfort ! I — I did not know 
you were married. (Enter Com., Mrs. M. and Mean. d. f.) 

Mrs. C. I repeat, sir, I am Richard Comfort’s wife. 

Mer. Dick’s wife ! 

Mrs. M. What’s this ? 

Mrs. C. (turning) There stands my husband and having 
r legal right as his wife, I demand that that woman (points 
to Mrs. M.) leave the house. Tableau, 


Curtain , 


Act III 


SCENE. — Same as Act I and II. 

(Mer. discovered front of stage reading paper) It’s of 
no use. {Lays paper down ) My thoughts will wander. 
I will make one more mighty effort to forget the past. 
( Takes up paper upside-down a?id attempts to read) I can’t 
do it. I have lost all interest in the news of the day ; 
even prize fights have no charm. What can it all mean ? 

Dick’s wife ! He declared he was unmarried. It seems 
to be only a question of which one is to be believed; 
the benefit of the doubt belongs to the lady. Perhaps he 
is ashamed of her, but why ? I don’t understand it. ( As 
if struck by a sudden thought) By jove ! I see it ! Dick 
must have married his maid and naturally is ashamed to 
confess it, especially as his uncle seems averse to his marry- 
ing. He can’t have been married very long, for it has only 
been about a year since he was engaged to — a — that other 
girl. What was her name ? I have forgotten it. No doubt 
she heard of his attentions to this maid and broke the en- 
gagement. {Enter Har. d. f.) 

Har. Did you see Sally, sir ? I sent her to you. 

Mer. Yes, I saw her; where is Mrs. Comfort? 

Har. I don’ know where she is just now, sir ; with Mr. 
Comfort, I reckon; they has had a little squall, sir, as it 
were. 

Mer. I don’t mean Mr. Comfort’s aunt. 

Har. I didn’t think as you did, sir ; I didn’t, nuther. 

Mer. {aside) Can it be that he doesn’t know Dick is 
married; I must go cautiously. {To Har.) I mean Sally; 
the maid, you know. 

Har. Yes, sir, I know Sally’s the maid. You said Mrs. 
Comfort, sir. I reckon Mr. Comfort wouldn’t like to have 
his wife called a maid ; leastways I wouldn’t. 

Mer. No, of course he wouldn’t. 

Har. But you did it, sir; you asked me where Mrs. 
Comfort were and then said you meant Sally. 

Mer. {aside) He evidently suspects nothing; Dick is 
keeping*it a close secret. 

36 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


37 

Har. Mrs. Comfort doesn’t look any more like Sally, 
sir, then I look like a ton of coal. 

Mer. Mrs. who ? 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Mer. What did you say ? 

Har. Like a ton of coal, sir. 

Mer. No, no; who was the person that was unlike 
Sally ? 

Har. Mrs. Comfort, sir. 

Mer. You mean old Mrs. Comfort, of course. 

Har. She aint old, sir. 

Mer. Well, that’s a matter of opinion. 

Har. She’s young and pretty. 

Mer. Pretty ! That’s a matter of opinion also. {Aside) 
The idea of calling Dick’s aunt young and pretty. {To 
Har.) I can’t say, Harris, that I admire your taste. 

Har. Why Mr. Comfort wouldn’t never have married 
her, if he hadn’t thought her pretty, sir, no more than I 
wouldn’t. 

Mer. The old man drew a blank then, that is to say, as 
far as her looks are concerned. 

Har. The old man, sir ! 

Mer. {angrily) Yes, the old man; are you deaf? 

Har. What do you mean, sir. 

Mer. What in the thunder do you mean ? Why you’re 
dumb, jackassly dumb ! 

Har. Just as you say, sir, {aside) it strikes me he’s the 
dumb one ; what’s he mean by “ old Mr. Comfort ?” ( To 
Mer.) I was talking about Mr. Richard, sir. 

Mer. No, you weren’t ; you said Mr. Comfort’s wife 
didn’t look like Sally. 

Har. Neither she do, sir. 

Mer. Great scott ! man ! do you know who his wife is ? 

Har. In course I do ; I’ve knowed who she is for 
nigh on a year. 

Mer. A year ! Not a year ! 

Har. Yes, sir, ever since they was engaged and long 
afore it was told to nobody, sir. I always did like Miss 
Edith. 

Mer. Edith ! Edith who ! 

Har. I said Miss Edith, sir ; Miss Edith Barley in 
course ; leastways that were her name afore she married 
Mr. Comfort. 

Mer. Edith Barley ! that was the girl Dick was engaged 

to. 

Har. In course, sir — that’s what I said. 


38 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mer. But he is married — {hesitates.) 

Har. Certainly, sir, I said that too. 

Mer. {aside) That is terrible ! evidently this fellow does 
not know the truth. ( To Har.) And where is Mrs. Comfort 
now? 

Har. Don’t know where she is just now, sir ; reckon she’s 
somewhere around. She’s almost always to home, except 
when she is in town at her mother’s, sir, and she’s there 
pretty regular every week, as it were. 

Mer. {aside) I must see Dick, and receive an explana- 
tion. {To Har.) Tell Mr. Comfort I wish to have an inter- 
view with him. 

Har. Yes. sir. {Aside) He seems to like to interview 
folks. {Exit d. f.) 

Mer. Two wives! I always thought Dick a little gay, 
but this is carrying gayety to an extreme ; it is positively 
festive. Terrible ! disgraceful ! and Dick swore he was un- 
married too. {Enter Mean, and Mrs. M. d. l.) 

Mean. My dear Clementine, I agree with you in every- 
thing. 

Mer. {aside) Another wonder! I will speak to him 
about Dick. 

Mean. What you say is certainly true ; Richard must 
explain matters. 

Mer. Just what I was thinking, sir. 

Mean, {seeing Mer. — sharply) And what right have you 
to think anything ? 

Mer. What right, sir ! I think— 

Mean. Entirely too much. 

Mrs. M. Entirely ! 

Mean. You think it your duty to interfere in every one’s 
business, and do your utmost to make trouble between my 
wife and me. 

Mer. Oh ! pardon me, sir, I tried to smooth matters — 

Mean. Smooth your grannie ! there was nothing to 
smooth. 

Mrs. M. Certainly not ! you cannot smooth the placid 
mirror-like waters of a limpid lake. 

Mean. And a lot of wind only ruffles the surface. 

Mer. Yes, of course, but I was trying to pour oil on th« 
already ruffled waters. 

Mean. Your attempt was a failure. 

Mer. {half aside) I am aware of that fact. 

Mean. A rip-saw cannot smooth. 

Mer. I never imagined it could, sir. 

Mrs. M. {sharply) Then don’t try it. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


39 


Mer. Thanks, I won’t. (Aside) They seem in a 
strangely agreeable mood. (To Mean.) My dear sir, 
there is a little matter — 

Mean. I have no time for trifles. 

Mer. If your wife would kindly withdraw I — 

Mean. My wife withdraw ! Never ! 

Mrs. M. Nothing shall ever part us. 

Mer. (aside) Then I won’t attempt it. A very loving 
couple. ( To Mean.) I am extremely glad to see you such 
a happy family, but — 

Mean. I have no secrets from my wife. 

Mrs. M. (to Mer.) If it be necessary for some one to 
withdraw you may do so. (Sits c.) 

Mean. We give you our full permission. (Enter Com. 

D. L.) 

Com. (aside) She refuses to be reconciled. 

Mer. Ah ! Dick ! I wish to speak to you about — about 
something. 

Mean. Richard, I would like to have a few moments of 
your valuable time. 

Com. I seem to be in demand. 

Mer. Dick, if you’ll come into the smoking-room we — 

Mean. You will remain here, sir ! 

Mer. But I sent for him and I think — 

Mean. Your thoughts are worthless. 

Com. (aside) I evidently have no choice in the matter. 

Mean. As Richard’s uncle, I certainly have a right to 
/he first interview. 

Com. (aside) I had better remain and do my best to 
weather the storm. (To Mer.) Uncle is right, and as in 
all other things, I will try to please him in this. 

Mean. It is well that you know your duty. Sit down ! 

Com. I am not tired, sir. 

Mean. Sit down, I say ! (Sits r. c.) 

Com. (aside) The storm is going to be a heavy one. 
(Sits l. c. Mer. stands by left side of Com. chair) 

Mean. Richard, I desire an explanation, I demand 
one ! 

Com. In any way that I can be of assistance, sir — in 
what — 

Mean. You need ask no questions, sir, leave that to me. 
My wife has been insulted. 

Mrs. M. Insulted by a common house-maid. 

Com. Impossible ! 

Mean, (angrily) What do you mean, sir ! you know it 
is possible ! very possible ! I demand an explanation. 


40 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Com. {aside) It is to be a thunder storm. ( To Mean.) 
Why, uncle, / didn’t insult her. 

Mean. You did, sir! or if you didn’t you allowed it to 
be done, which is the same thing. 

Mrs. M. Precisely ! the maid is in your employ. 

Com. Yes, she is in — ■ 

Mrs. M. She must get out. 

Com. But, my dear Aunt — 

Mrs. M. You refuse to dismiss her? {Aside to Mean.) 
There may be some truth in our suspicions. 

Mean. Richard, there is another matter. 

Com. {aside) The storm is about to burst. 

Mean. You know my wishes in regard to marrying, or 
rather to your not marrying. What did that maid mean by 
calling herself your wife ? 

Com. I’m sure I can’t say, sir. 

Mer. Why, Dick, you know — 

Mean. Who asked you to interrupt, sir ? {To Com.) 
Richard, how can you account for what she said ? 

Com. I — I can’t account for it; she must be weak- 
minded. 

Mer. {aside) What a liar he is ! 

Mean. You say then that you are not married to that 
maid? 

Com. I am married to no maid. 

Mer. Dick, how can you stand there and — 

Mean. Mind your own business, sir ! {Rises) What 
affair is it of yours whether Richard is standing or sitting ? 
What difference would it make to you if he were married 
to ten thousand maids ? 

Mrs. M. He has a right to marry whom he pleases — 

Mean. Without consulting you ? 

Com. {aside) I came out of that storm with great credit ; 
I had better withdraw before the wind blows from some 
unexpected quarter. {Rises) { To Mer.) What was it you 
wished to say to me, George ? 

Mer. If you don’t mind, we will adjourn to the smoking 
room. I — I imagine your uncle and aunt do not appreciate 
my society. 

Mrs. M. Remember, Richard, you must dismiss that 
maid. 

Mean. Yes, I do not propose that my wife shall be in- 
sulted. 

Com. {aside) Dismiss my own wife ! What am I to do ? 
{Exeunt Mer. and Com. d. r.) 

Mrs. M. I cannot understand it. That woman distinctly 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 4 1 

said that Richard was her husband. What object did she 
have in saying so ? 

Mean. It does seem mysterious, my dear (sits r. c.) ; but 
Richard vows there is no truth in it — you heard him — and 
we certainly should believe our nephew before a common 
kitchen-maid. No doubt, as he says, the girl is weak- 
minded. Perhaps she wishes to marry him, and the wish 
being the father to the thought, she thinks herself married. 

Mrs. M. But if she be crazy, why does Richard retain 
her? 

Mean. Can’t imagine, my dear ; but she shall not remain ; 
I will see to it. I sha’n’t allow strangers to insult my wife. 

Mrs. M. But you would allow acquaintances ? 

Mean. Certainly not, my dear. 

Mrs. M. And you will never quarrel with me again ? 

Mean. Never again ; but it takes two to make a quarrel, 
you know. 

Mrs. M. More often, one. 

Mean. Oh ! no, one cannot quarrel without the other. 

Mrs. M. But 07 ie can start a quarrel. 

Mean. Yes, that is true ; but the past is forgiven, I do 
not blame you, my dear. 

Mrs. M. Blame me ! I should say not ; you have nothing 
to blame. 

Mean. I simply referred to our quarrels, my dear. 

Mrs. M. I was never to blame. 

Mean. Oh ! come now, Clementina, I have no doubt we 
were both — 

Mrs. M. Speak for yourself, sir. 

Mean. You fly into a temper so easily, that it is utterly 
useless to try to reason with you. 

Mrs. M. Yes, for you to attempt to reason ; you can’t do 
it. 

Mean. My dear Clementina, you must not — 

Mrs. M. Must not ! I shall do as I please. (Sarcastically) 
I thought you would never quarrel with me again. Oh no \ 
never again ! The truth is, you have such a disagreeable 
disposition that you can’t control yourself. 

Mean. (Quietly) Then my darling — 

Mrs. M. How dare you talk so coolly! (rises) you 
hypocrite ! you know you are in a raging temper ; yes you 
are, you needn’t deny it ; I see it in your eyes. (Mean tries 
to speak ) Not another word, sir ! I won’t listen to you. Not 
one word! (Exit Mrs. M. d. l.) 

Mean. Now was that a quarrel or not ? I didn’t quarrel. 
She said she saw temper in my eyes ; what’s the matter 


42 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


with my eyes ! they 'are not crossed. Sorry that this should 
have happened ; very sorry. After such an amicable settle- 
ment of our last disagreement; but deuce take it, I’m not 
going to apologize and tell her that I was to blame for this, 
when I wasn't. {Enter Mer. d. r.) 

Mer. ( speaking out d. r.) Well, Dick, it is none of my 
business — 

Com. Without) Then why do you make it yours ? 

Mer. ( speaking out d. r.) But you really oughtn’t to act 
this way and you know it. 

Com. ( without ) If I know it, why do you tell me ? 

Mer. {as if to himself ) He is irreclaimable, incorrigible ! 
I can do nothing with him. 

Mean. That’s not to be wondered at. 

Mer. No, you are right ; when a man becomes a biga- 
mist or a polygamist he is generally beyond recall. 

Mean. You are talking at random — mere nonsense. 

Mer. I wish I were, for Dick’s sake. 

Mean. What has Richard to do with it ? 

Mer. Simply this ; Dick denies that he is married. I 
say it is not true ! 

Mean. Of course it is untrue. 

Mer. I mean what he says is not true. Dick is not only 
married to his maid-servant, but he has another wife. 

Mean. What ! Two wives ! Impossible ! ( Rises .) 

Mer. Improbable you mean, but I fear very possible. 
That he has two wives I am certain ; the question is, where 
has he drawn the line ? Upon investigation the number 
may multiply. 

Mean. I do not believe it, sir ! Upon what grounds do 
you make such an accusation ? 

Mer. First, the maid herself — 

Mean. A weak-minded creature. 

Mer. You think so, perhaps, but judging from a conver- 
sation I overheard there is more truth in what she says than 
you imagine. 

Mean. Nonsense ! What did you hear ? 

Mer. Enough, when added to what Harris told me, to 
confirm my suspicions. 

Mean. What was that ? 

Mer. Just as I have told you, that Dick has two 
wives. 

Mean. I do not believe a word of it, but — a — {sarcastic- 
ally) your knowledge is unlimited — who is the other one ? 

Mer. The girl Dick was engaged to a year ago. 

Mean. How’s that? The girl he was engaged tol 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 4$ 

Now I am sure that your suspicions are unfounded; he 
said the engagement was broken. 

Mer. Yes, but — a — any one can lie. 

Mean. ( angrily ) Hang it ! No doubt you can, but my 
nephew is no liar. What reason would he have for keep- 
ing his marriage a secret ? 

Mer. None, unless he had one wife already, or, perhaps 
he thought you would not favor it. 

Mean. Nor would I ; I often told him so. Can it be 
true ! But I will soon learn the truth. ( Goes toward D. R.) 
No, it would be better to have more substantial proofs than 
those you have given me before accusing him. Where is 
this maid? I will see her first. 

Mer. I shall send her to you, sir ; you will learn that 
what I say is true. ( Exit Mer. d. f.) 

Mean. This is scandalous ! simply scandalous ! But it 
can’t be true ! there must be some mistake ! two wives * 
poor fellow ; what does he do when he quarrels with both 
of them at once, cr — a — or rather when they quarrel with 
him ? The storm must be terrible. ( Enter Mrs. C. d. l. 
Aside) Ah, here is the maid; not a bad looking girl. 
{To Mrs. C.) My dear, I desire a few moments’ conversa- 
tion with you ; {aside) it is best to speak to her kindly. 

Mrs. C. Is this Mr. Meander, Dick’s uncle ? 

Mean. Yes, I am Mr. Comfort’s uncle. 

Mrs. C. Dick told me that you were here, but — 

Mean. Mr. Comfort, my dear ! Mr. Comfort! You should 
not be so familiar. 

Mrs. C. I— I forgot ; but you are not company, and I 
call him “ Dick.” 

Mean. But a maid has no right — 

Mrs. C. I am not a maid ; I am Dick’s wife. Why he 
told you that I was a maid I— I do not know, unless--un- 
less he has another wife {beginning to cry). 

Mean. Now don’t cry. {Aside) What shall I do with 
her? {To Mrs. C.) Richard has no wife, I am sure of it 
{quickly) except you of course. 

Mrs. C. {crying) But he has ; I— I know it. 

Mean, {aside) When a woman knows a thing it is useless 
to try to convince her to the contrary. 

Mrs. C. She is in the house. I saw him making love 

to her. , , . . 

Mean. What ! you saw him ! here ! This is outrage- 
ous ! Are you sure ? 

Mrs. C. Certain. 

Mean. My dear young woman, have you any proof 


Cio v 


44 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


that you are Richard’s wife — the marriage papers > for 
instance ? 

Mrs. C. I have them in my room. 

Mean. And you saw him making love to another woman ? 
The villain ! You’re sure it was a woman ? 

Mrs. C. Quite sure. 

Mean, (aside) My temper is rising rapidly to fever heat. 
What a terrible look my eyes must have in them. And so 
Richard has deceived me, has he ? Sally, are you aware — 

Mrs. C. My name is Edith, sir. 

Mean. Edith ! He told me it was Sally. Another de- 
ception ! Edith, do you know how your husband makes 
his living ; what business is he in ? 

Mrs. C. None, at present, sir ; he — he told me that you 
made him an annual allowance ; is that true ? 

Mean. Alas! too true! But do you know the condi- 
tions of that allowance ? 

Mrs. C. No, sir. 

Mean. That he should never marry. 

Mrs. C. He did not tell me that. 

Mean. Of course he didn’t, the rascal ! Still another 
deception ! And this is the way that I am to be treated by 
my own nephew ! A nephew that I have loved ! I’ll not 
stand it! He’s had his day; now I shall have mine. He’s 
had his laugh ; it is my turn, and we’ll see who will laugh 
the longest and best ; we’ll see ! 

Mrs. C. Oh, uncle ! please don’t be too severe with poor 
Dick ; for I love him still, it is not his fault, I’m sure it isn’t; 
it is that hateful, old woman ; if he will only give her up — 

Mean. And he shall give her up. I will dismiss her 
myself ; where is she ? 

Mrs. C. (throwing arms about him ) You are very kind, 
but please spare Dick. 

Mean, (aside) She’s a dear little creature. (To Mrs. 

C. ) I cannot spare him. (Enter Mrs. M. d. l. horrified .) 

Mrs. C. For my sake. 

Mean, (aside) What would my wife say, if she saw me 
now? (To Mrs. C.) Well, for your sake, I will try — I say 
I will try — to be less severe ; but I must speak to him. I 
shall do so now ; he is in the smoking-room. (Goes toward 

D. R.) 

Mrs. C It is not his fault ; I am sure of it. (Exit Mean, 

d. R.) 

Mrs. M. (angrily) But it’s your fault, you — you — I don’t 
know any term strong enough for you. You are not con- 
tent with disgracing Mr. Comfort’s good name, by calling 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


45 

yourself his wife, but you must try by underhand means to 
win the affections of another woman’s husband. 

Mrs. C. I — I do not understand you: how dare you in* 
sinuate such a thing ! 

Mrs. M. I dare speak the truth. 

Mrs. C. You know that is untrue. Once again I com- 
mand you to leave the house. 

Mrs. M. And I defy you. (Sitting) I shall sit down 
here and remain until I wish to go. 

Mrs. C. You refuse to leave ? 

Mrs. M. Certainly ; until some one who has authority 
tells me to go. 

Mrs. C. Since you will not obey me, I shall bring some 
one whose authority you will be compelled to recognize. 
(Exit D. R.) 

Mrs. M. She is certainly crazy. (Enter Mrs. C. and 
Mean. d. r.) 

Mean, (aside to Mrs. C.) Where is she ? 

Mrs. C. (aside to Mean.) Sitting there ; she refuses to 
leave. 

Mean, (aside to Mrs. C.) She does, does she? She 
won’t remain long. (To Mrs. M. ?iot recog?iizing her) You 
refuse to go at this lady’s bidding ? perhaps you will obey 
my command. Leave this house immediately and forever! 
and if you dare to — (Mrs. M. rises) my wife ! 

Mrs. M. (very haughtily) I shall obey you ; I leave this 
house and you, now and for — ev — er. (Exits d. l.) (Mean. 
sinks dejectedly into a chair) 

Mean. My wife. 

Mrs. C. Your wife ! Oh ! what have I done ! 

Mean. And what have I done ! 

Mrs. C. I was told that she was Mrs. Comfort ; Dick’s 
wife. 

Mean. Oh ! wretched man that I am ! This is the grand 
climax; the final to all our quarrels; she is going away 
forever. (Rismg — vehemently) She must not go ! I will 
speak to her (goes toward d. l.) (stopping) But she will 
not believe me ; why should she ? I wouldn’t believe my- 
self. 

Mrs. C. Oh, uncle ! I am sorry — 

Mean. So am I, my dear, but it wasn’t your fault ; you 
were misinformed. I should have recognized my own wife. 
What is to be done ! You must help me. Come, we will 
see her and try to explain matters. 

Mrs. C. But — a — 

Mean, (leading her toward d. l.‘) You must go with me. 


46 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


my dear ; she would not believe me ; come ! {Enter Mer 

D. F.) 

Mer. Sally will be here — 

Mean. Confound Sally ! Get out of my way, sir. {Exeunt 
Mean, and Mrs. C. d. l.) 

Mer. He has evidently been having a talk with Sally, 
and from his actions rather a stormy one. {Enter Com. 
d. R.) 

Com. {not seeing. Mean.) They worry me almost crazy 
talking nonsense. 

Mer. I should think your conscience would worry you. 

Com. Why should it ? 

Mer. Perhaps you have none. 

Com. {coolly) Merrigale, I believe you’re — a — you’re a fool. 

Mer. {quietly) Thank you. 

Com. You wished to speak to me — and then asked a lot 
of rubbish about my two wives ; now what in the thunder 
do you mean ? Is it a joke ? It is a deuced poor one, and 
I fail to see the point. 

Mer. But, Dick, you can’t deny that you — 

Com. That I have two wives ? I can and do deny it. 

Mer. Oh ! of course you can. 

Com. {angrily) And I mean it too. I am becoming tired 
of your interference. Why did you tell my wife that I — 

Mer. You confess then that you have a wife ? 

Com. Certainly I do, but only one. 

Mer. But you denied it at first. 

Com. For reasons which do not concern you in the 
slightest degree. I did not wish my uncle to know of my 
marriage ; he was so averse to it. Now he knows every- 
thing, and a great deal more than everything, judging from 
the ridiculous way he has been talking about the crime of 
bigamy. What did you mean by telling Edith I had an- 
other wife ? 

Mer. Edith ! I — I haven’t seen her. 

Com. That’s not true. 

Mer. But it is true, Dick ; I was talking to your other 
wife — I — I mean the maid. 

Com. Edith and the maid are one and the same ; I called 
her that to deceive uncle. 

Mer. What an idiot I am. 

Com. You certainly are. 

Mer. And I told your uncle that you had two wives. 

Com. I wondered where he learned that rubbish ; I 
thought it was not original with him. {Sarcastically) Mer- 
vigale, I am greatly indebted to you for all your trouble. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 47 

Mer. But I — I really did not tell the maid — your wife 1 
mean — that you had another wife. 

Com. You pointed out some woman — I can’t imagine 
whom — and called her “ Mrs. Comfort.” 

Mer. Yes, but I meant your aunt. 

Com. My aunt ! I have no aunt by that name. What ! you 
didn’t mean Aunt Clementina ! 

Mer. The one that called herself “ Mrs. Meander.” 

Com. Called herself “ Mrs. Meander !” that is her name. 

Mer. Not her real name ! I thought she was the wife of 
—is his name Meander? By Jove ! I thought it was Com- 
fort. 

Com. Well, for a man of your years, you are the dumbest 
I have ever seen : a regular freak. 

Mer. You are right ; dumb as a stone wall. 

Com. I wish you were ; you would have said less. 

Mer. I am extremely sorry, old man — 

Com. Oh! no doubt you are — but that doesn’t help 
matters any. What is to be done ? How am I to live ? 
With the understanding that I should not marry, uncle made 
me a yearly allowance ; but no more help can be expected 
from that source. 

Mer. And it was through me that your uncle discovered 
the truth ! What an unfriendly friend I am ! 

Com. You couldn’t have done better — or rather worse — 
if you had been my enemy. 

Mer. Oh ! don’t say that, Dick ; don’t make me feel any 
worse than I do already. 

Com. Misery loves company ; you have succeeded in 
driving me almost crazy. ( Seeing papers on table ) Confound 
it ! here’s my comedy, unfinished — I had forgotten it ! 

Mer. Your what ? 

Com. My comedy ; I am writing a play. 

Mer. {aside) He has certainly gone crazy. 

Com. It should have been completed by to-night; but it 
is too late now ; it’s too late ! There have been so many 
interruptions — between the acts — that it will be impossible 
to finish it in time. A comedy ! It should have been a 
tragedy ; then I could have played the star part. 

Mer. And it is all my fault ! I feel so miserable that I 
would gladly take poison. 

Com. Poison ! would that this glass contained it {takes 
up glass full of water , from table — Enter Sally d. f.) 
{excitedly) Poison ! Death by it would be welcome ! Then 
would I be at 'rest. Then would all these cares, worries, 
and false accusations be forever at an end. Poison ! I 


48 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


would drink it as I do this — (S ally screams — Com. lets glass 
fall.) 

Sally. He’s pizaned ! ( screams again) Murder ! Hilp ! 
( To Mer.) Why don’ yez do somethin’ an’ not stand there 
loike a post thet yez are. Hilp ! Where’s the missus ! I’ll 
fitch her. {Exit Sally d. l.) 

Mer. She thinks you are poisoned. (Com. stoops to pick 
up glass) Enter Mrs. C. and Sally d. l.) 

Sally. There he is, mum ; all doubled up with spasms 
inside him. 

Mrs. C. ii'unning to Com.) Oh, Dick ! what have you 
done ! Why did you do it. It is all my fault. 

Com. But Edith I — 

Mrs. C. Do not attempt to speak ; it will only weaken 
you. Sit down here {pushing him into chair) Quick ! some- 
one bring water ! {Exit Sally d. f.) 

Com. No, I object ; no more water. 

Mrs. C. But you will die. 

Com. Oh ! no, I won’t. 

Mrs. C. I implore you ! do not die ! live ! live for my 
sake ! 

Com. Edith, I have no present intentions of dying ; I feel 
better, much better {attempts to rise). 

Mrs. C. Do not rise ! Not until you have entirely re 
covered. {Kneeling) Will you forgive me, Dick ? 

Com. Forgive you! What? 

Mrs. C. I have cruelly wronged you. I have enter- 
tained false suspicions ; but I am so sorry, can you forgive 
me? 

Com. Yes, what little I have to forgive. {Enter Mean. 
a?id Mrs. M. d. l.) But — a — but can you forgive me ? 

Mrs. C. There is nothing — 

Com. Everything, Edith ! I have been a coward. I w r as 
afraid to tell uncle that you were my wife. Not because I 
was ashamed of you — I could never be that — but on ac- 
count of uncle’s wrath should he learn that I was married. 

Mrs. C. But it was for my sake. 

Com. Yes, for your sake ; but cowardly nevertheless. 
Oh ! why didn’t I tell you everything when we were mar- 
ried ? 

Mrs. C. Never mind, dear ; it is all over now. 

Com. Yes, it is all over. I must seek some employment 
by which I can support you. Perhaps this play which I 
have been writing may bring me something. I cannot ex* 
pect uncle to — 

Mean, {stepping forward) No, Richard, you can expect 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


49 


nothing more from me. I blame you — not so much for 
marrying this dear little girl ; she’s a jewel ; by Jove ! if you 
hadn’t married her, I would have done it myself. 

Mrs. M. Sir! 

Mean. Of course I — I mean if I had not met a very fine 
woman first, my love. ( To Com.) But, Richard, I do blame 
you for not confiding everything in your wife. As you say 
— you should expect nothing from me, but — here’s my hand, 
young man ( giving hand), I forgive you. 

Com. Sir ! 

Mean. For your wife’s sake. 

Com. How can I thank you ! I did not expect — 

Mean. If you had, I wouldn’t have done it. ( Enter 
Sally and Har. d. f.) 

Mrs. M. Your wife should be a blessing to you, Richard. 

Com. She has proven herself one. 

Mer. Mrs. Meander, I think — 

Mean. Let me advise you to stop thinking in future ; it 
is a bad habit. And now, Richard, a playwright’s life is not 
a happy one ; yours should be full of happiness. Write 
plays for amusement, if you will, but when you are in 
need of the wherewithal to sustain life, draw on you* uncle 
— Between the Acts. 


Curtain, 















. 











































































































FORGET-ME-NOTS 


A Curtain Raiser 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Henry Seymour — A young man of dissipated habits . 
Morgan — His servant. 

Time in Playing, 20 Minutes. 


SCENE. — Any Ordinary Interior. 


PROPERTIES 

For Seymour — Hat and coat ; wine-glass ; revolver and 
box of cartridges. 

For Morgan — Two letters — one enclosing a bunch of 
withered flowers. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The actor is supposed to face the audience. R, means 
right ; L, left ; C, centre ; R C, right of centre ; L C, left of 
centre ; R D, right door ; L D, left door. 

R RC C LC L 


1 



FORGET-ME-NOTS 


SCENE.-— Henry Seymour’s apartments. The room in gen . 
eral disorder. Empty wine decanters and glasses on table 
down r. 

Enter Morgan, l. d. 

Morgan, {slowly looking around the room) This can’t last 
much longer. It’ll kill him sure. To run the pace he’s been 
agoin’ for the last three months — it aint in natur’ to stand it. 
{Putting the room to order) He’s breakin’; I can see it. An’ 
how he has changed ! Why, there warn’t a merrier, kinder- 
hearted boy in all the country than Mr. Harry, and now lie’s 
so quiet an’ solemn like. {Crossing to R., slops before table 
down stage. Shaking his head) Night after night the same 
thing. Drink, drink, drink. Many’s the time I’ve laid awake 
an’ heerd ’em singin’ an’ shoutin’, while they gambled away 
their money an’ their lives. But it’ll break him ; aye, and 
it’ll break his mother’s heart — the dear, good lady! — and 
her so fond of Mr. Harry, too ! Oh ! if Mr. Seymour hadn’t 
never drove him from home ! It warn’t right. It was Mr. 
Harry’s bad friends what made him begin to spend his 
money. Mr. Harry aint bad, but he aint to be drove ; he’s 
too proud for that. {Going to R. d., calling softly) Mr. 
Harry! {A slight pause. Aside) If I could persuade him 
to go home! I’ve got a mind to ask him. Yes, I will — 
that is, if I don’t get afeared. {Callmg) Mr. Harry, sir! 
{Knocks) It’s time you was awake, sir. {Aside) He don’t 
answer me. He’s tired out, I reckon, an’ no wonder. 
{Knocks and calls louder) Mr. Harry ! {Opens the door gently 
and exits r. d. {Pause) Morgan re-enters R. d. Appear- 
ing frightened) He aint there ! His bed aint been touched ! 
What’s become o’ him ? Perhaps he drunk too much last 
night, an’ wandered off in the street. He may have got 
hurt! {Hurries toward L. D.) 

E7iter Henry Seymour, l. d., showing effects of dissipatio?i. 

Morgan, {gently) Good .nornin’, sir. (Seymour slowly 
comes down stage, and does not appear to see Morgan.) I — I 
was beginning to worry about you, sir. {Helps Seymour off 

5 


6 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


with his coat) But I s’pose you went home with some o’ 
your friends, sir. ( Places Seymour’s hat and coat on the 
table down l. c. Seymour sits r. of table down l. c. Ap- 
pears lost in thought ) Would you like a cup o’ hot coffee, 
Mr. Harry? 

Seymour, {looking up , noticing Morgan for the first time) 
Oh ! it’s you, Morgan, is it ? 

Morgan. Yes, sir. 

Seymour. What do you wish ? 

Morgan. Only to know if I could do anything for you, sir. 

Seymour. Nothing. ( A pause) 

Morgan. Mr. Harry, I — I wanted to ask you something. 
(Seymour pays no attention) Last night I — I dreamed that 
you was a boy again ( going behind Seymour’s chair) an’ I 
saw you a- wadin’ in the brook, just as you used to do, down 
in the fields. An’ somehow or other you got in where the 
water was deep, an’ you begun to go down. An’ then you 
held out your hands to me, sir. I wanted to throw myself 
in an’ help you, but somethin’ — I don’t know what — kept me 
back. I called to you to strike out an’ swim, but you only 
shook your head, an’ then you went down, down, down, 
(a slight pause ) an’ somehow, sir, I — I’ve been thinkin’ that 
you was really a-gettin’ drowned now. An’ you’re agoin’ 
down. If you’d only strike out, sir, you’d reach the shore. 
I know you could. ( Pleadingly ) Oh, Mr. Harry ! think o’ 
your home ! (Seymour starts slightly , and listens) Think 
o’ your happy boyhood ! Think o’ your mother, sir ! 

Seymour, finder his breath ) My mother ! 

Morgan. How you an’ her used to pick the blue forget- 
me-nots together, sir ! Don’t break your mother’s heart — 

Seymour, {rising, interrupting a?igrily) How dare you! 
How dare you speak of her in such a place as this! 
Hav’n’t I enough to bear? {Repenting) There, there, 
Morgan ; you meant it kindly, no doubt, but you only make 
me feel the more wretched. 

Morgan. But if you’d only go home, sir. 

Seymour. Home ! I have no home, and I deserve none. 
But if he had not been so severe perhaps I would have 
acted differently. 

Morgan. He’ll forgive you, sir. 

Seymour. Never ! {crosses to r.) 

Morgan. If you’d go to him an’ — 

Seymour, {interrupting) / go to him ! {Laughs bitterly) 
And what would I say ? Ask his forgiveness ? It would 
be useless. No, no, you do not know him. And why 
should he forgive me ? 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


7 


Morgan. He’s your father, sir. 

Seymour. Yes, and because he’s my father he is the 
more severe. {Picks up wine-glass from the table down r.) 
Look! {Points to glass) Here is my life as it was. {Breaks 
the handle of glass) This when I left home, broken, but 
not altogether useless. {Letting the glass fall upoii the floor) 
That’s what it is now. Would you have me gather together 
the broken pieces and take them to my father? ’Twould 
be a poor gift. {Sits r. of table down l. c.) 

Morgan. But they can be mended, sir. 

Seymour. No ; not now. If, when I was falling, I had 
been caught — but it is too late now. 

Morgan. Your dear mother — 

Seymour. ( interrupting ) Don’t mention her name again, 
Morgan. 

Morgan. Not if you don’t wish it, sir ; but if you’d only 
leave this place an’ your friends — 

Seymour, {slowly) I’m going to leave, Morgan. 

Morgan. I’m glad o’ that, sir; for if — a — you’ll pardon 
me, I — I think your friends aint doin’ you no good. 

Seymour. ( rising ) Friends ! Bah ! I have no friends. 
{Placing his hand on Morgan’s shoulder) Morgan, why is it 
you take such an interest in me ? I am not worth it. 

Morgan. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been so kind to 
me, sir. 

Seymour. I, kind ! Why, I’m the most selfish creature 
in the world. ( Turns away) 

Morgan. Oh! no, sir! {Aside) He’s actin’ very strange 
to-day. 

Seymour, {as if to himself) Yes, I am going to leave this 
place. 

Morgan. When, sir ? 

Seymour. To-day. 

Morgan. Might I ask where we’re agoin’, sir ? 

Seymour, {thoughtfully) Where am I going? I do not 
know. Anywhere to get away from this weary life — from 
myself. {Sits r. of table down l. c. Rests his head upon 
his hands) * 

Morgan, (aside) Oh! if he’d only go home! {To Sey- 
mour) Do you know it’s just three months to-day since we 
come here, sir ? An’ it were about this time o’ day, too. I 
remember the clock on the railroad station struck nine {a 
pause). I’ll go and be gettin’ the things together. We’ll 
be leavin’ this afternoon, I s’pose, sir ? {Aside) Perhaps he 
will go home. 

Exit Morgan, l. d., taking Seymour’s hat and coat. 


8 


FORGET-ME-NOTS'' 


Seymour. Three months to-day! It seems years! 
( Looking at clock) Ten minutes of nine. He said we ar- 
rived here at nine o’clock. What better hour for leaving ? 
{Rising) Down by the river, where I came to the determi- 
nation to end it all {takes a few steps up stage — hesitates ). 
But why not here ? — here, where I have lost my manhood 
and my self-respect? here, where I have given every- 
thing to pleasure — all the hope and happiness my life con- 
tained — why not surrender here what little there remains ? 
{Rises, unlocks drawer of table, opens it, and takes out revolver. 
Thoughtfully) “ The unknown country from whose bourne 
no traveler returns.” Strange that I have no fear. Is it 
that my life has lost all its value ? But why should I wish, 
to remain in a world that cares naught for me — to suffer as I 
have suffered the past three months ? And yet I alone am 
to blame. But if he had forgiven me {takes a box of cart- 
ridges from the table drawer and carefully loads the revolver ). 
One ought to be sufficient ; it will be an easy shot. But I 
had best make sure {puts another cartridge in the revolver). 
If the first fails me, the second will be more kind. {Looking 
at clock) Five minutes more of life. I wish they were 
past. How my friends will laugh ! “ Poor fool !” they 

will say ; “ what a coward !” And so I am — a coward and 
a fool. But what I am to-day I owe to these my friends. 
Knowing me for a fool they proffered their friendship and 
then robbed me. They have played with me as with a toy , 
and when they tired they would throw me away. Not one 
would care, whether I left this world or not, now that my 
money is gone. Homeless, friendless, what have I to live 
for ? {Pointing to revolver) This will prove my best and 
truest friend. I may be a fool, but for once 1 shall do a wise 
thing {Looking at clock) Three minutes and all will 
be over. {Sits in arm-chair, c.) I wonder if she will grieve 
very much. I am breaking her heart now. My mother’s 
love is the one thing I am sorry to leave behind. It is the 
one thing that has never changed. I have felt that it was 
following me wherever I have wandered. Why is it that I 
cannot forget her face ? It has been constantly before me 
lately. Sometimes it appears so sorrowful, as if reproaching 
me, and then I see her with the same sweet smile I remem- 
ber so well. How happy we were together at home ! I be- 
lieve she loved me better than the whole world. “ My fairy 
queen,” I called her, and I used to make crowns of wild 
flowers and sceptres of rushes. How well I remember one 
day when I brought her a bunch of forget-?ne-?iots / — her 
favorite flower. She kissed me, and said that though she 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


S 

needed no remembrance of her loyal subject she would 
keep them always ; and though she was smiling I saw tears 
in her eyes. {Rising, impatiently) Bah ! what a beast I am. 
( Glancing at clock) One minute more. It is not long. My 
life has been a failure. I chose the wrong road and lost 
my way. If only I had had some one to guide me, some one 
to put me on the right track before it was too late. {Look- 
ing at clock) A half minute ! {Examining revolver) Every- 
thing is ready. A few seconds and the hour will strike. 
Upon the ninth stroke I shall leave this world. I can but 
wait now. (A pause. The clock slowly strikes. Seymour 
counts) One {cocks the trigger of revolver) — two — three — 
four — {raises revolver and points it at his head) five — six — 

Morgan, {without) Mr. Harry, sir! * Mr. Harry! (Sey- 
mour lowers the revolver .) 

Enter Morgan, l. d., hastily. Seymour places the revolver 
in the table drawer and closes it 

Morgan. Here are some letters, sir. 

Seymour. ( impatiently ) Why did you stop me ? 

Morgan. Stop you ! Was you goin’ out, sir? {Giving 
him letters) Two letters — just come, sir. I thought that they 
was likely to be important, sir. {Aside) They are from home. 
I’ll leave him, so’s he can read ’em by hisself. 

Exit Morgan, r. d. 

Seymour, {throwing the letters on the table without look- 
ing at them) What are letters to me ! Death was cheated, 
but only for a moment {opens the table drawer and takes out 
the revolver). This time I will give Death what belongs to 
him, and quickly, too (is about to raise the revolver when he is 
attracted by one of the letters). From home ! {Lays the re- 
volver upon table and takes up letter .) Why should he write ? 
Has he heard of the life I have been leading and writes to 
upbraid me ? ( Opens letter and reads. A pause) No ; it is 

too late now {tears the letter into fragments as he comes down 
c.). If he had forgiven me three months ago, when I asked 
his forgiveness, I would not be here to-day, but it’s too late 
now. And mother ! Why does she not write ? Is it be- 
cause — but there was another letter. Perhaps — {runs to table , 
L. c., takes up another letter , looks at it, and utters a cry of de- 
light. Hastily opens it, and takes out a bunch of withered 
flowers. Controlling himself with difficulty) F orget-m e-nots ! 
(Kisses them. A slight pause. Takes the revolver , hesitates , 
Mid then slowly extracts the cartridges. Then , overcome with 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


to 

emotion, he throws himself, sobbing , into the chair r. of tabu 
l. c.) 

Enter Morgan, r. d. Hesitates , then crosses to l., and 
kneels beside Seymour’s chair. 

Morgan. I knew they’d never forget you at home, sir. 
Won’t you try and remember them, Mr. Harry ? We’ll leave 
this place — 

Seymour. ( sobbing ) Yes. 

Morgan. ( eagerly ) And we’ll go— 

Seymour. Home ! Home ! 


curtain 



A CLOUDY DAY 


A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



























' 















































































•i 





































A CLOUDY DAY 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Mr. Thomas Burton, ) 

Mrs. Thomas Burton, j « young married couple . 
Time in Playing, 25 Minutes, 


SCENE. — Any Ordinary Living Room. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The actor is supposed to face the audience. R, means 
right ; L, left ; C, centre ; R C, right of centre ; L C, left of 
centre ; R D, right door ; L D, left door. 

R RC C LC L 


3 



A CLOUDY DAY 


SCENE. — Burton is discovered reading newspaper by the 

table , c. Mrs. Burton is looking out of the window , l. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! dear, I believe it is going to rain, and I 
wanted to go shopping, too. (Burton yawns) You seem 
very sleepy this morning, Tom. Is it the weather ? Cloudy 
weather always makes me stupid and cross ; don’t it you ? 

Burton, (yawning again) No, I can’t say that it does. 

Mrs. B. How dark it is ! It looks as if it were going to 
pour. Perhaps there is going to be a thunder storm ; do 
you think so ? 

Burton, (lazily turning over the pages of the newspaper) I 
don’t know, I’m sure. 

Mrs. B. And you don’t seem to care, either. 

Burton. Why should I ? 

Mrs. B. But I must go shoping this morning, Tom. 

Burton. There’s been another big fire in Milwaukee. 

Mrs. B. Just think ! Next Friday is your birthday, and 1 
haven’t bought your present yet (approaches him and sits 071 
the arm of his chair). Now tell me something you really 
want. 

Burton. ( reading from paper) “ A million dollars in 
smoke.” 

Mrs. B. Why, Tom, what nonsense! As if you could 
smoke a million dollars worth of cigars. Besides, I gave 
you cigars last year. I might give you a pocket-book, but 
I don’t believe you would use it. Or a cigar-case ; but that 
would seem as if I were encouraging you to smoke. Don’t 
you think it would ? 

(Burton makes no reply , but reads the paper attentively .) 

Mrs. B. (after a pause) Tom ! 

Burton, (abstractedly) Well. 

Mrs. B. Would you like a cigar-case ? 

Burton, (absent-mindedly) Cigar ! No, I won’t smoke at 
present, I believe. 

Mrs. B. I didn’t say cigar. 

Burton, (half aside) That will be a heavy loss for Whit- 
ney. 

Mrs. B. I said case. 


5 


6 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Burton. Yes, it’s a very bad case — very. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! Tom ! you are not listening to me. 

Burton. Yes, I am ; but I’m reading, my dear. 

Mrs. B. But tell me, do you wish a pocket-book or at 
cigar-case ? 

Burton. ( turning over page of paper) Hello ! Fire Fly 
and Ginger have been entered in the Grand Circuit. 

Mrs. B. ( beseechingly ) Tom, tell me ; which one? 

Burton. Neither has won yet. The race is not to be run 
until next week. 

Mrs. B. I don’t mean that. I mean which one will you 
choose ? 

Burton. 

Mrs. B. 

Burton. 


Oh ! I’m not particular. 

Haven’t you any preference ? 

No. If I were a betting man, I think I would 
back Fire Fly. 

Mrs. B. ( rising impatiently) 

Why don’t you listen ? 

Burton. I was reading, Helen. 

But I was talking to you. 

I know you were ; but you saw that I was 


Oh ! you don’t understand. 


Mrs. B. 
Burton. 
reading. 
Mrs. B. 
Burton. 
Mrs. B. 
Burton. 
Mrs. B. 


You could have answered my questions. 

You shouldn’t have asked questions. 

You shouldn’t read. 

Now, that’s nonsense, Helen. 

Of course, you think so. 

Burton, {rising) That’s nonsense, too. There is no “ of 
course” about it. I think it nonsense when it is nonsense. 
You can’t expect me to think otherwise. 

Mrs. B. Well, — I — I — am sorry if I interrupted your 
reading. But don’t be cross, will you ? 

Burton. I’m not cross. 

Mrs. B. Then tell me what you wish. 

Burton. Wish ? 

Mrs. B. Yes, for a birthday present. {Aside) I don’t 
believe he heard a word I said. 

Burton. Oh ! almost anything — except cigars. 

Mrs. B. I suppose you haven’t smoked all I gave you 
last year. 

Burton, {significantly) No, I haven’t. 

Mrs. B. How would you like a pocket-book ? 

Not unless you give me something to put 


Burton. 
in it. 

Mrs. B. 
Burton. 


Well, then, a cigar-case. 
Very well, a cigar-case. 


I have four, but — 


A CLOUDY DAY 


> 


Mrs. B. ( interrupting ) Oh ! Tom! 

Burton. They are all too small. 

Mrs. B. If I made you a pretty one, with the word 
** Cigars ” embroidered on it in large letters, would you 
use it? 

Burton. I think I would prefer it without the embroi- 
dery — the silk catches on the coat-buttons so. And it 
would be unnecessary to work the word “ Cigars ” on it. 
I have no doubt I would know it’s use. 

Mrs. B. But that would look so pretty. 

Burton. Perhaps, but it’s a useful article rather than an 
ornamental one, you know. If you wish to give me an 
ornament, why not purchase something for the house ; then 
we could both enjoy it. A vase, for instance ; or a picture. 
That’s just the thing — a pretty picture. How much money 
do you want ? {Puts his hand in his po-cketl) 

Mrs. B. But, Tom, we have no place to hang any more 
pictures. 

Burton. Oh ! we can find a place. One of the old ones 
can come down and be stored away. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! they are so pretty. 

Burton. There are one or two exceptions. There’s 
the portrait of your paternal grandparent, for instance {points 
to portrait on the wall , c.) Now, since we hav’n’t a gallery 
of ancestral paintings — 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ) Oh ! we can’t take that down. 
Mamma is so proud of it. 

Burton. But she can be just as proud of it in the closet 
Prouder, I should say. 

Mrs. B. The closet ! 

Burton. Well, then, the loft, if she values it so highly. 
I’ve no doubt your grandfather was a very fine man in his 
day, and probably that is a good likeness ; but I never had 
the pleasure of his acquaintance, and, I must confess, I take 
no interest in the portrait of a stranger. 

Mrs. B. But grandfather isn’t a stranger. 

Burton. No, his portrait isn’t. I’ve been acquainted 
with that almost two years now, but I can’t say our opinion 
of each other has improved any. We are mere acquaint- 
ances — nothing more. When I married into your family, 
Helen, I didn’t bargain to claim relationship with all your 
departed relatives. 

Mrs. B. O Tom ! how heartless ! 

Burton. It isn’t heartlessness. My heart isn’t large 
enough, that’s all. I’ve nothing against your grandfather 
{aside) except that he died poor. {To Mrs. B.) But he 


8 


V CLOUDY DAY 


doesn’t appear to be fond of me — judging from the way he 
scowls and frowns. 

Mrs. B. You know that was only his near-sighted- 
ness. 

Burton. Then he should have worn goggles. It doesn’t 
make any difference in what part of the room I am, his eyes 
follow me, prying and meddling into everything. If it were 
your grandmother’s portrait I could understand. 

Mrs. B. How can you speak so disrespectfully of my 
ancestors ! 

Burton. I’m not disrespectful, but I am heartily tired of 
your grandfather’s stony stare. Now just look at him, 
always watching and listening to what goes on. I won’t 
stand it any longer. ( Goes up stage .) 

Mrs. B. What are you going to do ? 

Burton. I’m going to turn his face to the wall ( turns the 
portrait around ). And when I come home this afternoon 
your grandfather must come down. 

Mrs. B. ( indignantly ) I won’t have grandfather treated 
so. 

Burton. I will. In my opinion he never looked better. 

Mrs. B. ( decidedly ) Tom Burton ! turn grandfather back 
to his proper position immediately. 

Burton. ( looking at her for a moment — then calmly ) No, I 
won’t, my dear. I think he is in his proper position. 

Mrs. B. If you don’t, I — I — I’ll tell mamma. 

Burton, (sneeringly) Oh ! you threaten, do you ? {An- 
grily) Well, go tell mamma ; I don’t care. 

Mrs. B. (with determination ) I will. 

Exit Mrs. Burton, l. 

Burton, {laughing weakly) Ha, ha ! I suppose she con- 
siders that clever. I never saw her so obstinate before; 
she is acting disgracefully. {Sits by tablet) Now what is 
there to admire in that old portrait ? I can’t imagine. In 
my opinion it has a very vacant look. I have half a mind 
to turn it round again, just to spite Helen and — a — a her 
mother (rises, goes up stage to portrait and turns it part way 
round , then quickly turns it with its face to the wall again). 
No ! those eyes ! I can’t endure them. I wish the old man 
had been born blind. ( Sitting again at tablet) I am sorry I 
made Helen so angry — I — I mean that she made me so 
angry. No, I don’t mean that, either, for I wasn’t angry. 
{Looking at watch.) Hello ! I’m fifteen minutes late. (Rises, 
then sits again) I wish I knew how to make peace. If I — 
a — if she hadn’t been so cross, I would — (stops and listens) 


A CLOUDY DAY g 

She is coming! Perhaps it’s her mother! I don’t care. 
( Takes up newspaper and begms to whistle . Stops whistling 
and liste?is .) It was only a noise in the street. I sincerely 
wish this quarrel had not occurred. It makes one feel so 
uncomfortable. It is the first one since our marriage. 
But I suppose — like the measles — we have to have them 
sooner or later. Perhaps it was my fault, but I don’t know 
how, exactly. Besides, it takes two to make a quarrel, so I 
was not entirely to blame. I suppose I could tell her that 
I am sorry, but I’m sure I don’t know what I have done to 
be sorry for. She is certainly more angry than I ever saw 
her before. 

It is rather difficult to know just what is the best thing to 
do. But why not act just as if nothing had happened ? Yes, 
that will be the best way. 

She is sure to regain her temper in time. When she re- 
turns, I will be just as agreeable as possible. I’ll say all the 
nice things I can think of. But perhaps she will not return. 
Well, why not find her ? Yes, I’ll do it. (Rises.) Peace must 
be restored even at the sacrifice of a little pride. 

Exit Burton, l. 

Mrs. B. (cautiously sticks her head in right , looks around 
room , then enters) He has gone, and he didn’t say good-bye 
to me. He didn’t turn grandfather’s portrait back again, 
either. Mamma wasn’t at all excited. She only said, 
“ Never mind, Tom is turning his face to the wall this morn- 
ing ; after awhile he will turn himself back again ; then he 
will turn the portrait, too.” (Sits, r. c.) 

I had made up my mind never to speak to Tom again, 
but mamma advised me not to take that determination. 
Perhaps it would be too great a victory for his sex. Mamma 
thinks a woman’s weapons are her tongue and her tears, 
and that a man excels at sarcasm. She said Tom hadn’t 
been sarcastic, so everything would come out all right ; but 
if he should use sarcasm, then I might have good cause for 
anger. 

I wish he had said good-bye to me. (Listening) I heard 
a footstep. Perhaps Tom is returning. I must be occupied 
with something. ( Takes up book and reads atte?itively .) 

Enter Burton, r. 

Burton, (with forced gay ety) Ah; there you are, Helen — I 
—I’ve been looking for you. 

Mrs. B. (pleasantly ) Have you ? 


IO 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Burton. ( embarrassed ) Yes. (Sits l. C. — a pause) Why 
what a pretty gown ! 

Mrs. B. (pleased) Do you like it ? 

Burton. Exceedingly. What are those things on it ? 
Spiders ? 

Mrs. B. (springing to her feet ) Spiders ! 

Burton. Oh ! they are flowers, aren’t they ? I wasn’t 
quite sure whether they were spiders or frogs. 

Mrs. B. (aside) The brute ! He is becoming sarcastic. 
(Goes to window , L.) 

Burton, (aside) That was certainly a very bad begin- 
ning. (After pause) Helen! (No reply) That’s a very pretty 
hat you wear. I always liked the style of that — a — a — what 
do you call the thing sticking up in front that looks like a — 
like a shaving brush ? 

Mrs. B. (with dignity) Sir ! 

Burton. I — I didn’t say it was one, my dear. I — I only 
said it looked like one.. 

Mrs. B. How dare you, sir! How dare you insult me 
to my face ! 

Burton. I — I didn’t. I said — 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ) You spoke in sarcasm. You in- 
tended to hurt my feelings, you know you did. I — I’ll never 
speak to you again — never. (Sits R. of table and takes up 
book) 

Burton. Now, Helen, there’s no use talking in that way. 
How was I to know ? I’m not a hat-dresser, or whatever 
you call them. I am not supposed to know the different 
figures on all your dresses or what your hats and bonnets 
are trimmed with. And even if the designs were frogs or 
spiders, or if you did wear a shaving-brush on your head- 
gear, there’s no reason why the article should not be be- 
coming. (A pause) Won’t you ever speak to me again ? 
(Mrs. B. shakes her head determinedly) You won’t? Well, 
what am I to do ? It will seem very strange not to have my 
wife ask me questions. Think how lonely my life will be. 
I had planned such a happy married career too. And just 
think of all the good times we could have had. Are you 
thinking of them, my dear ? (Mrs. B. nods') We used to be 
very happy together, didn’t we ? (Mrs. B. nods and wipes 
her eyes) 

Burton (sighing) But that is all over now. (Mrs. B. 
sighs) Isn’t there anything I can do to make you speak ? 
(Mrs. B. shakes her head) Nothing ? I’ll even turn your 
grandfather’s portrait face outward. (Goes up stage and does 
it) See, Helen, I’ve done it There is the same stony stare. 


A CLOUDY DAY 


II 


But I will try to endure it for your sake. Won’t you speak 
now ? (Mrs. B. shakes her head) Perhaps you will write — 
that wouldn’t be speaking. (Mrs. B. shakes her head) Then 
it’s no use trying ; I’ve done everything in my power. 
{Rises and goes to window , L.) 

Mrs. B. (aside) How I wish I could speak to him. 

Burton (aside) I must make her speak, or I’ll be in a 
temper all day. 

Mrs. B. (aside) If only I had not said that I would never 
speak to him again ! (Sighing) I suppose I can’t do it now. 

Burton, (looking out of the window) There goes Mrs. 
Carter: That new seal-skin coat of hers is certainly 

very becoming. (Mrs. B. springs to her feet a?id is about 
to run to the window when she recollects herself and sits 
again) 

Burton, (after slight pause) And here comes your friend, 
Mrs. Cushing. (Mrs. B. utters an exclamation of disgust) 
Did you speak, my dear ? (Looking out of the window 
again) How very handsome Mrs. Cushing looks this 
morning. I never saw her look better, though she is al- 
ways stylishly dressed. (Bowing as if speaking to Mrs. 
Cushing) Good morning, Mrs. Cushing! Why, she is 
crossing the street. Perhaps she is coming to call. Yes, I 
do believe — 

Mrs. B. (springing to her feet and interrupting) She 
mustn’t come in ! I won’t see her ! 

Burton, (looking out of the window) No — I was mistaken. 
She was going to join Mrs. Carter. 

Mrs. B. (speaking excitedly) She is a nasty, disagreeable, 
spiteful thing, and you know I can’t bear her. Just because 
you admire her — (Burton attempts to speak) yes you do. 
You think she is handsome and stylish, but she’s nothing 
of the kind. She’s a flirt, and a — a (hesitates) 

Burton, (smiling) Helen ! 

Mrs. B. Oh ! Tom ! you made me speak. 

Burton. Of course I did. 

Mrs. B. But I should not have done it. 

Burton. Oh ! yes, you should. You didn’t wish me to 
have a mute for a wife, did you ? 

Mrs. B. No, but— but it was all your fault. 

Burton. I acknowledge it. 

Mrs. B. No, it wasn’t your fault at all ; it was mine. 

Burton. Oh ! you are entirely too generous. Suppose we 
agree that the fault belongs to neither of us. 

Mrs. B. But something is to blame. 

Burton. It must have been the cloudy day. 


12 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Mrs. B. Yes, I am sure it was. Cloudy weather always 
makes me cross. 

Burton. And it always makes me disagreeable. 

Mrs. B. But look, Tom — the clouds have passed away 
and the sun is shining. 

Burton. Yes, we will have a pleasant day, after all. 


CURTAIN 



Wanted— A Valet 


An Original Ethiopian Sketch 
















. 







.. 












































































* 
























































































WANTED-A VALET 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 


Mr. McGinty, . 

Dick Skinner, 

George Washington Congo, 
Lewis Lewis, .... 


. . A Lawyer . 

His discharged Valet. 

| Applicants . 


Time in Playing, 25 Minutes 



' 

. 


.. 











WANTED— A VALET 


SCENE — McGinty’s office. McGinty discovered seated 

at a table c., writing. 

Enter Dick Skinner, r. d. 

( Coughs to attract McGinty’s attention .) 

McGinty. ( perceiving Dick) Well, Dick, are you ready 
to leave ? 

Dick. N — No, sah. 

McGinty. I told you that I was going to dismiss you 
this morning. 

Dick. I’se happy you’ll miss me, sah. 

McGinty. I said discharge — 

Dick. No, sah, you said — 

McGinty. (< interrupting ) Now, no impudence. I know 
what I said. I warned you that the very next time you be- 
came intoxicated you would have to go. 

Dick. But, sah, I never took a — 

McGinty. ( interrupting ) Yes, you did — a great many 
drops. 

Dick. But, sah — 

McGinty. {mterrupting) Now don’t deny it. Go pack 
up your clothes and leave immediately. (Dick goes r.) 
I am writing a recommendation which you may take with 
you. 

Dick. ( perplexed ) W — What’ll I do wid it, sah ? 

McGinty. Present it to the next gentleman for whom 
you wish to work. 

Dick. Aint it wuth keepin’ ? 

McGinty. impatiently) Oh ! you’re the dumbest man I 
ever saw. 

Dick. Yas, sah. 

Exit Dick, r. d. 

McGinty. {finishes writing the recommendation) There ! 
I’ll leave this recommendation on the table where Dick 

5 


6 


WANTED — A VALET 


will find it. {Rising) I dislike to dismiss the man, for he is 
a good servant — but he has been intoxicated once too 
often. I hope my advertisement in this morning’s paper 
will bring some replies. I appointed nine o’clock as the 
hour for receiving applicants. {Looking at his watch.) 
Why, it’s almost nine now. {Going r.) I’ll tell Dick to 
show every one who calls to this room. 

Enter Lewis Lewis, c. d. 

Lewis. Mornin’, sah. 

McGinty. Good morning. 

Lewis. Am you de liar ? 

McGinty. The what ? 

Lewis. De liar. 

^McGinty. (with dignity) I am a lawyer. 

Lewis. Dat’s what I said. Am you in ? 

McGinty. What do you wish ? 

Lewis. You said you wanted to see me dis mornin’, sah. 
McGinty. Have you come in response to my advertise- 
ment? 

Lewis. I — I reckon so. 

McGinty. Very well : take a seat. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. (Sits.) 

McGinty ( sitting ) What is your name? Your Christian 
name ? 

Lewis. I’se a Methodist. 

McGinty. No, no. I mean what is your first name ? 
Lewis. Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. And wfiat is your surname ? 

Lewis, (perplexed) Sah? 

McGinty. Your surname. 

Lewis. Y — yas, sah. 

McGinty. I asked you a question. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. (impatiently) Oh ! you don’t understand ? 
Lewis. No, sah. 

McGinty. What is your last name ? 

Lewis. Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. (irately) Oh ! no, not your first name — you* 
last name. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. Lewis, sah. « 

McGinty. But you say your first name is Lewis. 

Lewis. So it am. 

McGinty. But your last name— 

Lewis. ( mterruptmg ) Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. Lewis Lewis ? 


WANTED— A VALET 


7 


Lewis. Just so, judge. 

McGinty. ( angrily ) Why didn’t you say so at first ? 

Lewis. I did, sah. 

McGinty. Have you ever had experience as a valet ? 

Lewis. A — a which, sah ? 

McGinty. I didn’t say a witch — I said a valet. 

Lewis. Yas, sah — an’ a mountain, too. ( Laughs up - 
roariously.) 

McGinty. Where were you last employed ? 

Lewis. In a lard mill, sah. 

McGinty. A lard mill ? Then why do you come to me ? 

Lewis. Don’t you try cases, sah ? 

McGinty. Not cases of lard, you numskull. I have been 
accustomed to pay my servants either six dollars a week 
and board, or ten dollars without board. Which would 
you prefer ? 

Lewis. ( thoughtfully ) Six dollars an’ you eat me, or ten 
dollars an’ I eat myself. I think I’d rather eat myself, sah. 

Enter Dick, r. d., carrying a large valise . 

McGinty. Here ! Where are you taking my new valise ? 

Dick. ( embarrassed ) N — Nowhar, sah. I — I was bor^ 
rowin’ it. 

McGinty. What for ? 

Dick. For to-day. 

McGinty. Well, I don’t choose to lend it. Put it where 
you found it, immediately. 

Dick. Yas, sah. 

Exit Dick, r. d. 

McGinty. (aside) Perhaps he has borrowed more of my 
property. I had better make an examination before he 
leaves. (To Lewis.) Just wait a few moments, Lewis. I 
shall return presently. 

Exit McGinty, r. d. ~ 

Lewis. ’Pears like dat man can’t understood nuffin I 
says. Might think I was a baby. ( Takes up from the table 
c., the recommendation which McGinty has written for 
Dick.) Hello! What’s dis? (Reading with difficulty.) 
“ Dis — is — to — recommend — de — bear — as — honest — sober 
—an’ dili-gent.” I wonder what kind o’ gent dat am. Dis 
am a notice to quit, dat’s what. (Lays the paper upon the 
table , c.) 

Enter George Washington Congo, c. d. 

(He is dressed in a very extravagant fashion , swallow-tail 


8 


WANTED — A VALET 


coat, showy vest a?id trousers , high color, and brillia?it red 
cravat. Wears a high hat and carries a large cane) 

Lewis. Oh ! look at de jude ! 

Congo. Who you callin’ a jude ? 

Lewis. Oh ! you can’t fool me. I knows who you is, 
George Washington Congo. 

Congo. You think you’se’f mighty smart. What you 
here fo’ — eh ? 

Lewis. I’se gwine to work here. 

Congo. No — you isn’t. 

Lewis. I is, too. 

Congo. You aint got no recommendation, you aint. 

Lewis. W — what’s dat ? 

Congo. Dat’s what I gib a man when I wants to work 
fo’ him. 

Lewis. Reckon I can get some. What sort o’ ter- 
backer am it ? 

Congo. Terbacker nuffin. It’s writ. (Taking a paper 
from his pocket and giving it to Lewis.) Read dat, and 
maybe you’ll suspect your s’periors. (Struts up C.) 

Lewis, (after glancing over the paper) Reckon dat’s 
’bout what I’se after. (Puts the paper in his pocket) 

Congo, (coming down c.) What do you think o’ dat ? 

Lewis. Taint wuth nuffin. 

Congo. It am, too. Whar am it at ? 

Lewis. Better had look. 

Congo, (searches over the table, finds the recommendation 
McGinty wrote for Dick and puts it in his pocket ). Dat 
recomdation’s wallible. 

Lewis, (chuckling — aside ) Dat aint his recomdation. 

Enter McGinty, r. d. 

Congo. Good mornin’, sah. Nice day, sah. 

McGinty. Are you another applicant ? 

Congo. N — No, sah. I’se a tonsorial artist. 

McGinty. A barber, eh ? But have you come to apply 
for a situation ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. What are you named ? 

Congo, (glaring at Lewis) A jude. 

McGinty. I mean how do you call yourself? 

Congo. A gen’leman, sah. 

McGinty ( impatiently ) No, no — 

Congo. Yas, sah, I is. I’s a F. F. V. — dat’s what I is. 

McGinty. You’re an idiot. What is your name ? 

Congo, (proudly ) George Washington Congo. 


WANTED — A VALET 


9 


Lewis. ( derisively ) George Washington ! 

Congo. ( offended ) What’s de matter wid George Wash- 
ington ? 

Lewis. He didn’ know nuffin. 

Congo. He did, too. 

Lewis. He couldn’t even tell a lie, he couldn’. 

McGinty. That is greatly to his credit. Truth is indeed 
a jewel. The Father of this Country could have lied if he 
had desired, but he would not. 

Lewis. Course he wouldn’ when his dad catched him 
wid de hatchet in his hand. 

McGinty. {to Congo) Have you a recommendation of 
good character ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. {Gives McGinty the paper which he 
found on the table) {To Lewis) Now you’ll see how 
wallible a recomdation am. 

McGinty {reading the recommendation) Eh ! What’s this, 
you rascal ? 

Congo, {surprised) Sah! 

McGinty. {angrily) You are a fraud! A thief ! 

Congo. I — It must be a mistook, sah. 

McGinty. Do you mean to tell me that this recommen- 
dation belongs to you ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. That’s a falsehood, for I wrote that paper 
myself. {Throws the paper upon the table) Now you may 
go. I do not wish a dishonest servant in my employ. 

Lewis. I’se got a recomdation, sah. 

Congo. Eh ! 

Lewis. A good one, sah. 

McGinty. Very well. Come with me to my private 
office. 

Lewis. I’se honest, I is. 

Exeunt McGinty and Lewis, l. d. 

Congo. Well, if dat don’ beat all I ever seed. Just 
wait ’til I catch dat rascal Lewis ; I’ll beat rll he ever seed. 
( Takes up the recommendation which McGinty threw upoii 
the table) Dis here aint my recomdation. 

Enter Dick, r. d. 

Dick. Reckon it’s mine. 

Congo. Yours ? 

Dick. Yas, but 't’aint no ’count. What you want here? 
A job ? 

Congo. Yas. 


10 


WANTED — A VALET 


Dick. Do you drink ? 

Congo. Course I do. I’se a geri’leman. 

Dick. Wouldn’t be no use cornin’ here fo’ a job if you 
didn’ drink like a fish. 

Congo. Dat so ? Why ? 

Dick. ’Cause de boss he wo’n’ have no man what don v 
drink. Dat’s why he turned me down. 

Congo. Is you temperance ? 

Dick. I never take nuffin’ — (aside) ’Cept when I’se 
dry. ( To Congo) If you want de boss to take you on, just 
you get ’toxicated. (Taking a bottle from his pocket) Here, 
you try some o’ dis. Best in de world. 

Congo. How do you know ? 

Dick. Eh? ’Cause I — ’Cause I — I’s been telled so. 
(Aside) I’ll fix his chance fo’ gettin’ my place. 

Congo, (drinks and becomes jovial) Ah ! Dat sartainly 
am fine! (Drinks again) Hurrah ! I’se a daisy. Hurrah! 

Dick. Yas, dat sartainly am de stuff. 

Congo. I’se one o’ the four hundred, I is. 

Dick. How do you know ? 

Congo. How do I know ? ’Cause thar would be only 
three hundred an’ ninety-nine widout me. I’se gwine fol 
to get a job here, too, what’s more. 

Dick. Course you is. Go right in an’ see de boss—* 
go right in. (Exit Congo, l. d.) 

(Noise heard out L.) 

Enter Lewis, l. d., hurriedly, his clothmg in great dis- 
order. 

Lewis. Help ! Murder ! He’s killin’ me. Help. 

Dick. What’s de matter? 

Lewis. I’se dead. 

Dick. Is you? Take some o’ dis med’cine. 

Lewis, (drinks) What sort o’ med’cine am dat ? 

Dick. Dat’s what dey call de “ Cold Cure.” 

Lewis. (dri?iks again and becomes surly) I’ll learn George 
Washington Congo I aint no cowyard. I’se gwine to get 
a job right here, too, what’s more. 

Dick. Course you is. Go in an’ make de boss take 
you — go right in. 

Exit Lewis, l. d. 

Dick, (chucklmg) Reckon dere chance fo’ stayin’ here 
aint wuth a pinch o’ snuff. (Great t racket heard out L.) 

Enter McGinty, l. d., screaming ; followed by Congo 
and Lewis, each brandishing an immense razor. 


WANTED — A VALET 


II 


McGinty. ( making a dive under the table ) Police ! Police ! 

Dick. Here ! Here ! Gen’l'emen don’ make no such 
noise. Dis aint no stock exchange. Take anudder drop — 
{Extends the bottle toward them. Congo springs forward 
and snatches the bottle from Dick’s hand.) 

Lewis. Gib me dat med’cine or I’ll split you right down 
de back : hear me talkin’ ? ( Chases Congo around the room. 
Both trip over chairs.) 

Exit Congo, c. d ..followed by Lewis. 

(Dick runs to c. d. Shuts and locks the doors.) 

McGinty ( timidly sticking out his head from under the 
table) Have they gone ? 

Dick. Yas, boss, dey am went. 

McGinty. (< coming from under the table a?id grasping 
Dick by the ha?id) ( With emotion) Richard, my boy— you 
have saved my life. 

Dick. I — I couldn’ help it, sah. 

McGinty. Forgive my harsh treatment and inapprecia- 
tion of your valuable services. 

Dick. Course I will, sah. 

McGinty. And if I raise your salary, will you consent 
to remain ? 

Dick. Fo’ever, boss ; fo’ever. 

CURTAIN 





























































PRO TEM 


A Comedy in Three Acts 










PRO TEM 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 


Raymond Shepherd, . 
Oscar Wolcott, . 
Henry Leslie, 

Dr. Adolphus Blank, 
Logan, . 

Mrs. Shepherd, . j 

Bessie Martin, 
Rachel Shepherd, 
Lena Bailey, . 


. . . A Retired Merchant. 

His Nephew. 

. . . A Secretary , Pro Tem. 

. . Mrs. Shepherd's Physician. 

A Man Servant. 
Wife of Raymond , and Trustee and 
Guardian of Bessie. 

. . . Mrs. Shepherd's Niece 
. Raymond's Sister; a Spinster. 
. . . A Friend of Bessie. 


SCENE 

Acts I and III. The library at Raymond Shepherd’s. 
Act II. The drawing-room at Raymond Shepherd’s. 

One week is supposed to intervene between Acts I and II 
and twenty-four hours between Acts II and III. 


Time in Playing, Two Hours 
Costumes Modern. 

PROPERTIES 

Act I. Writing materials and call bell upon the table * 
prescription book and pencil for Blank ; letters and cigar 
for Shepherd ; a large bundle for Leslie. 

Act II. Writing mat on the table ; two bottles for Mrs. 
Shepherd ; paper for Logan. 

Act III. Note for Logan ; ball of worsted and writing 
materials on the table for Shepherd. 


STAGE SETTING 
Acts I and III 



Act II 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The player is supposed to face the audience. R. means 
right ; L. left ; C. centre ; R. C. right centre ; L. C. left 
centre ; D. F. door in flat running across the back of stage ; 
R. F. right side of flat; L. F. left side of flat; R. D. right 
door ; L. D. left door. 

R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 


PRO TEM 


SCENE. — The library at Raymond Shepherd’s. Writing 
materials and call bell on the table , down r. c. 


Enter Rachel Shepherd, l. d. 

Rachel. (Crosses to table dow?i r. c. and rings the bell \ 
After pause , rings again more vigorously .) ( Calling ) 
Logan ! {Aside) He hasn’t become accustomed to answer- 
ing a bell yet. ( Calling again) Logan ! 


Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan. Yes, ma’am. 

Rachel. Didn’t you hear me ring ? 

Logan. I heard somethin’, ma’am, but — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) Well, when you hear “some- 
thing ” in future, answer it immediately. 

Logan, {meekly) Yes, ma’am. 

Rachel. Has Mr. Leslie come this morning ? 

Logan. Not yet, ma’am. 

Rachel. When he does, show him here. 

Logan. I will, ma’am. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 

Rachel, {examining articles upon the table) Let me 
see, everything seems to be here : paper, ink, oh ! the 
books. I had forgotten them. {Calling) Logan ! {Rings 
the bell) 

Enter Logan, d. f. 


{To Logan) Did a package come by express this 
morning ? 

Logan. Not that I took notice on, ma’am. 

Rachel. Are you sure ? A large package. 

Logan. Nothin’ came, ma’am. 

Rachel, {half aside) That’s very strange. Perhaps it 
will come later in the day — but I wished to begin this 


morning. 


Exit Logan, d. f. 


7 


8 


PRO TEM 


I must keep my secretary employed somehow. (Sits by 
table , down r. c.) ( Thoughtfully ) What a very pleasant 
young man he is. And so handsome ! I am sure he will 
prove satisfactory. I was quite frightened when I received 
his letter in reply to my advertisement in the newspaper, 
and when I wrote, telling him to call, it seemed very bold 
in me — but in this age women have to be bold, if they wish 
to accomplish anything. If those books don’t arrive, what 
shall I give him to do ? I cannot afford to pay twelve 
dollars a week and have him waste an entire day. 

Enter Dr. Blank, d. f. 

Blank. Good morning, Miss Shepherd. (Rachel rises , 
startled) How are you this fine morning ? 

Rachel. Oh ! it’s you, is it, Doctor ? I — I thought — 

Blank, (interrupting) It was some one else, eh ? 

Rachel. (> hesitating ) Well — a — 

Blank. Now don’t deny it, Miss Shepherd, you were 
expecting some one. 

Rachel. Yes, to tell the truth, I was expecting some 
one. 

Blank. I knew it. 

Rachel, (proudly) My secretary. 

Blank, (surprised) Your what? 

Rachel. My secretary. I thought you would be sur- 
prised. I — I would like to consult you about — about some- 
thing, Doctor ; won’t you be seated for a few moments ? 

Blank. Certainly. (Aside) What new departure is this ? 
( They sit) 

Rachel. You see, Doctor, I — I have always thought a 
woman should be able to take care of herself— 

Blank. She can, as a rule, Miss Shepherd. 

Rachel. Yes, of course ; but I mean a woman ought to 
have some means of support — in case of necessity. 

Blank. So she should — dressmaking, cooking, painting ; 
there are any number of ways. 

Rachel. Yes, but the question was, which to choose. I 
do not care for the ordinary pursuits of life, and — 

Blank, (interrupting) Ah, I see ! You expect to turn your 
attention to something where your great talents will have 
an opportunity to be appreciated. 

Rachel, (flattered) O Doctor ! you flatter me! 

Blank, (sarcastically) Not at all, I assure you. 

Rachel. And you really consider me talented ? 

Blank. Undoubtedly. 


Rachel. Then it would be wicked in me not to improve 
my talents, wouldn’t it ? 

Blank. Very. (Aside) They need improving. 

Rachel. That’s what I think, and so I have decided to 
study medicine. 

Blank, (surprised) Eh! Medicine? 

Rachel. Yes ; I came to the decision about a week ago. 

Blank, (aside) She is going crazy. 

Rachel. Don’t you think it a splendid idea ? 

Blank, (sarcastically) Splendid ! 

Rachel. I knew you would approve. 

Blank. You will be an honor to the profession. 

Rachel. I intend to. I place such confidence in you, 
Doctor, that I wished to obtain your advice and encourage- 
ment. 

Blank. And what school do you propose to follow ? 

Rachel, (hesitating) Oh — a — no school in particular. 

Blank. One of your own, I suppose. 

Rachel. I have decided to write treatises upon different 
medical subjects, and in searching through three or four 
books which I have purchased to find what to say, I 
thought I would obtain an excellent medical education; 
don’t you think so ? 

Blank, (sarcastically) A very thorough course indeed, far 
more than the majority of students have. But may I ask what 
subject you have chosen for your first, or is that a secret ? 

Rachel. Oh ! no. The truth is, I — I haven’t quite de- 
cided. I wished your advice. 

Blank, (aside) My advice would be very discouraging. 

Rachel. My sister-in-law’s case has always proved a 
very interesting one to me — 

Blank, (rising and interrupting — decidedly) You ask my 
advice ? Well, then, don’t meddle (altering his manner) I — 
I should say, don’t waste your valuable time upon a case 
that has baffled an expert ; at least, not until you have had 
a little experience. Now, why not take for the subject of 
your first treatise — a — “ Laziness,” for instance, or “ Idiocy,” 
or a — a — oh ! any subject at all that is a familiar one. But 
be very careful, Miss Shepherd ; don’t overwork yourself. 

Rachel. Oh ! my secretary will prevent that. 

Blank. Ah, yes, I see ; you are to do the brain work— 
he, the manual labor ; an excellent idea. How is Mrs. 
Shepherd to-day ? 

Rachel, (rising) About the same as she has been for 
the past three months. 

Blank. No improvement ? 


IO 


PRO TEM 


Rachel. Very little. But you wish to judge for your- 
self, I suppose ? I will inquire if she is ready to see you. 

Blank. Thank you ; if you will be so kind. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

Blank, {looking after her) What an idiot that woman is ; 
but a little attention won’t be wasted ; she may be of use 
some time. {Sits by table , down R. c.) — {thoughtfully) That 
secretary of hers — I wonder if he’ll be in the way. {De- 
terminedly) I hope not, for his sake. He had better mind 
his own business and leave mine alone. I am not going to 
have my plans upset after three months of patient waiting. 

Three months for thirty thousand dollars ! I have cer- 
tainly made good use of the time as far as Mrs. Shepherd 
is concerned. She is entirely dependent upon me and I 
feel confident that I can persuade her to exert her influence 
with her niece in my behalf. When Bessie Martin returns 
I shall once more propose — after a few days of devotion. 
If she refuses me again ! Then my chances for gaining 
her fortune will vanish and I must manufacture some other 
scheme for making money. Mrs. Shepherd is gradually 
recovering and it won’t be a very great while before my 
services will be unnecessary. 

I can’t say that I relish the idea, for the past three months 
have been unusually pleasant ones. I have not only been 
received as a member of the family, but I have been paid 
handsomely in addition. I must confess my practice doesn’t 
amount to much outside of this house. But Mrs. Shepherd 
is growing stronger. {Thoughtfully) If I — could — {struck 
with an idea ) By Jove ! An idea! What was that I read 
in the paper only last week about a New York physician ? 
He gave his patient medicine which would weaken instead 
of strengthen. Why cannot I adopt a similar plan ? No one 
would be the wiser. Yes — I’ll do it. {Taking a prescription 
book and pencil from his pocket. ) I can compel the aunt to 
support me, if the niece should refuse. ( Writes prescrip- 
tion.) There! A solution of arsenic. I’ll direct Mrs. 
Shepherd to get this medicine and it will be in readiness. 

Enter Mrs. Shepherd, l. d., supported by Rachel. 

Blank, {sees them and rises) Ah, Mrs. Shepherd ; good 
morning. Allow me to assist you. {Goes to her and supports 
her tozvard arm-chair by fireplace , L.) 

Mrs. S. No, no ; not there, Doctor — I can’t endure the 
beat. 

Blank. Of course you can’t — how very thoughtless in 


PRO TEM 


II 


me ! I will move the chair this way and put the screen 
between you and the fire. {Moves the arm-chair , l. c.) 
There — that’s better. 

(Mrs. S. sits. Blank arranges the screen .) 

Rachel, {to Mrs. S.) I think you are looking better to- 
day, my dear. 

Mrs. S. Better ! How can you say such a thing, Rachel, 
when you see how greatly I am suffering ! 

Rachel, {sympathetically) Oh ! I am very sorry. 

Mrs. S. {sobbing) I shall never be well again, never ! 

Blank. Oh ! yes, my dear Mrs. Shepherd ; we hope to 
have you all right in a very few weeks now. {Aside) If her 
niece consents to marry me. 

Mrs. S. And you think I will completely recover my 
health ? 

Blank. Undoubtedly, madam. I am looking forward 
with great pleasure to that happy moment. 

Mrs. S. O Doctor ! you are so good. 

Rachel. So thoughtful ! 

Blank, {aside) So artful! 

Mrs. S. Rachel, I have forgotten my smelling salts — 

Rachel. I will get them. Are they in your room ? 

Mrs. S. I think so. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

( To Blank) Doctor, I wanted an opportunity to thank 
you for your great kindness toward me during my illness 
of the past three months. 

Blank. Not at all, madam, not at all. I am sure it has 
been a pleasure to attend you. {Aside) That has a double 
meaning. 

Mrs. S. You didn’t come yesterday ! I missed your 
daily visit. 

Blank. An important case out of town. 

Mrs. S. You are so different from others ; you under- 
stand me so perfectly. Others seem to have no sympathy, 
while you — 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan, interrupting. Speaking to Leslie without) Step 
right in here, sir, if you please. 

Mrs. S. {to Blank — not perceiving Logan) Did you 
speak ? 

Enter Leslie, d. f. 

Leslie. Beg pardon, but a — a — I — I thought Miss Shep* 
herd was in here. 


Exit Logan, d. f. 


PRO TEM 


T2 


Mrs. S. ( to Blank) Who is it ? 

Blank. A young man to see Miss Shepherd. 

Mrs. S. Rachel doesn’t wish to see any young man ; tell 
him she is busy. 

Leslie. ( advancing down c.) But I have an appointment. 

Mrs. S. Then you had better go keep it. 

Leslie. I mean with Miss Shepherd. 

Mrs. S. I don’t believe it; Miss Shepherd doesn’t make 
appointments with young men. 

Leslie. But my dear madam, I — 

Mrs. S. {interrupting sharply) Don’t become familiar, sir ! 
( To Blank) Doctor, kindly assist me. {Rises) I shall not 
remain to be insulted. {To Leslie) You are no gentleman 
to speak as you have to an invalid. {Begins to cry.) 

Leslie. I am very sorry if— 

Blank. ( interrupting ) You should be ashamed of your- 
self, sir. 

Mrs. S. Come, Doctor; we will leave this room. {Goes 
toward l. d., supported by Blank.) Men are so cruel ; they 
have absolutely no sympathy. 

Exeunt Mrs. S. and Blank, l. d. 

Leslie. Well, this is a warm reception. Now, what did 
I say to offend her ? I’m sure I didn’t intend to hurt her 
feelings, but I seem to have done it. And that doctor — I 
don’t like him. That nasty sneer of his isn’t becoming. I 
hardly know whether to remain or leave. But I suppose 
I had better keep the appointment even if Miss Shepherd 
doesn’t. {Sits in arm-chair, l. c. Looks at watch.) Eleven 
o’clock ! That’s punctuality for you ! I was due here at 
nine. But hang it all ! I can’t break myself into the life of 
a private secretary in a day. It will take practice. Besides, 
I am only a Secretary, Pro Tern. I wondg- what in the 
world I answered her advertisement for, anyway. No, I don’t 
wonder — I know perfectly well. I’ll prove to Miss Martin 
that I’m good for something. But the idea ! {Laughs) Ha — 
ha — ha. A man with a fortune, to come down here to this 
little out-of-the-way town and hire himself out as a private 
secretary at twelve dollars a week. Why it’s ridiculous ! 
But it’s all her fault. If I hadn’t met her last summer 1 
would be lunching at the club now. But I had no business 
to ask for an introduction. “ An idle man can never be an 
idol for any one.” That’s what she said. It’s a good pun, 
but it’s a — too personal. She thought I was lazy, but I’m 
not. I am just bubbling over with energy. Didn’t I study 
medicine for an entire year ! I would be a practicing 


PRO TEM 


13 


physician now if I hadn’t fallen heir to Uncle Dan’s fortune. 
I am very determined too, and when I told her that after I 
reached home I would get to work at something, I meant 
it. The question was, what? And how could I, living in 
New York, proveto Miss Martin, living in the little town of 
Hallsboro, that I was working at an honest occupation ? 
It’s fortunate that advertisement caught my eye, or the 
question might have remained unanswered forever. “ A 
Private Secretary.” It’s a good thing Miss Shepherd didn’t 
ask for references, for I have none. (Rising) And now 
where is Miss Martin ? That’s the next question. It’s 
curious that no one seems able to answer my inquiries. 
She told me she lived in Hallsboro, I’m sure of that. 

Enter Oscar Wolcott, d. f. 

(He talks with a hesitating , ?iamby-pamby manner through - 
out) 

Oscar. How — de — do! (Trips over the mat and falls 
sprawling) 

Leslie. Good morning. 

Oscar, (sitting upon the floor) Now do you know, I — I 
believe I’m the clumsiest fellow alive. 

Leslie. On the contrary, that was a very graceful 
tumble. 

Oscar. Think so ? Well it should have been. I’ve had 
plenty of practice. Seems to me I trip over that mat every 
time I enter the room. 

Leslie. You take it very good naturedly. 

Oscar. If I didn’t I’d be in a temper most of the time, 
(Rising and picking up mat ) Now what is there extraordi- 
nary about that mat ? No, it must be my clumsiness. Is 
Mr. Shepherd at home ? 

Leslie. I really can’t tell you, sir. 

Oscar. Can’t you ? I— I didn’t know, you know, 
whether you had seen him. 

Leslie. Not this morning. 

Oscar. You know him, don’t you ? 

Leslie. Oh ! yes. 

Oscar. I don’t remember ever having met you before, 
but I — I suppose you’re a friend of the family. 

Leslie. Well, a — not exactly. I am Miss Shepherd’s 
private secretary. 

Oscar, (surprised) Eh ! I— I didn’t know she had one. 

Leslie. She hadn’t until yesterday. 

Oscar, (thoughtfully) A private secretary! Now do 
you know, that’s awfuily interesting. 


14 


PRO TEM 


Leslie, {sarcastically) Awfully. {Aside) You might think 
I was an Egyptian mummy. 

Oscar. And I — I suppose you are terribly poor. 

Leslie. Poor ! oh ! no, I — {recollecting) Eh ! oh ! yes, 
yes, I didn’t understand ; terribly poor. 

Oscar. Dear me ! 

Leslie. And it makes it so hard to bear, because I used 
to be very well off. 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. Have you been a — a private 
secretary long ? 

Leslie. You mean have I had much experience ? 

Oscar. Just so. 

Leslie. Oh ! yes, years of experience. 

Oscar. You don’t say ! And I — I suppose you know lots 
of great men. 

Leslie. Any number of them. 

Oscar, {pleased) Do you though ? 

Leslie, {aside) Club men. 

Oscar. Give me your hand, sir. ( They shake hands.) 
I’m very proud to make your acquaintance, Mr. a — a — I 
don’t think you mentioned your name, did you ? 

Leslie. Leslie. 

Oscar. Mr. Leslie ! My name’s Wolcott — but they all 
call me Oscar. You see, every one knows me so well in 
Hallsboro. {Standing off and szirveying Leslie.) Now do 
you know I — I didn’t think a private secretary looked as 
you do. 

Leslie. { provoked) I suppose you expected goggles, 
long hair, and shiny clothes. 

Oscar. No, not exactly — but you’re a — too handsome. 

Leslie. Well, that’s my misfortune — not my fault. {Aside) 
He is a very pleasant fellow. {A pause.) 

Oscar. I — I have been wondering, Mr. Leslie, if you 
ever give advice. 

Leslie. Sometimes. 

Oscar. Would you give me a little ? 

Leslie. Certainly, if a little would benefit you any. 

Oscar, {sitting by table down r. c.) Thanks. The 
opinion of a man with your experience ought to be very 
valuable. 

Leslie. That depends. 

Oscar. Yes, I— I suppose so. Well — I — I’m in love, 
you know. 

Leslie. Yes. 

Oscar. Who told you ? 

Leslie. You did. 


PRO TEM 


15 


Oscar. Oh ! {Aside) He’s awfully clever. {A slight 
pause) 

Leslie. Well — you are in love — 

Oscar. Yes. 

Leslie. That’s good. 

Oscar. Think so ? But I’m in love with two girls. 

Leslie. That’s bad. 

Oscar. Isn’t it, though ? 

Leslie. You had better stick to retail ; wholesale never 
pays — in love affairs. 

Oscar. I — I thought probably you’d had experience. 
But you don’t understand my case, you know. 

Leslie. Oh ! but I do, you know. You’re in love — with 
two girls — or you think you are. Matters are coming to a 
crisis and you wish to know which girl to jilt. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ; I love only one girl. 

Leslie. You said two. 

Oscar. But I didn’t mean two. 

Leslie. Well — you should say what you mean. 

Oscar. You see, it’s just this way : I am supposed to be 
in love with one girl, when really I am in love with the 
other, and the other girl, that is to say — the — the other one 
you know — 

Leslie, interrupting) Which is the other one ? Why 
not call one, “ Miss A.” and the other “ Miss B.” Perhaps 
you can keep things clearer. 

Oscar. Not A. and B., but B. and L. 

Leslie, {indifferently) Suit yourself. 

Oscar. Well, people thought that I would marry my 

Cousin B when I was a boy — that is, when I was a 

boy, you know, they imagined — 

Leslie, {interrupting) Yes, I understand; you can skip 
that. 

Oscar. My uncle had the same idea, and, to tell the 
truth, I thought so myself. 

Leslie. I don’t see the difficulty. Has your uncle changed 


his mind? 

Oscar. No, but I have. 

Leslie. But how about the girl ? 

Oscar. Which one ? 

Leslie. Your cousin. 

Oscar. I — I am afraid she hasn’t changed her mind. 
Leslie. Then she thinks you are going to marry her ? 
Oscar. I suppose so. 

Leslie. Well ? 

Oscar. I don’t love her, you know. 


16 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Oh ! that’s where the other girl, Miss L., comes* 
in. 

Oscar. Just so. It’s a very bad case. 

Leslie. . What ? 

Oscar. It — my love, you know. 

Leslie. You love this other girl, Miss L., to distraction, 
I suppose. 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. 

Leslie, (aside) He appears doubtful. 

Oscar. But I thought perhaps I — I ought to marry my 

cousin. 

Leslie. Yes, it looks very much that way. 

Oscar, (dolefully) Think so ? I was afraid you would. 

Leslie. Well, you asked for my advice. It would be 
far better for your heart to break than your cousin’s, you 
know. 

Oscar. Perhaps so. 

Leslie. Of course, if she should refuse to marry you — 

Oscar, (interrupting) Oh ! but she won’t. No such good 
luck. But I’ll do it. She is coming home in a day or two, 
and I’ll propose, even if my heart does break. 

Enter Shepherd, r. d., carrying letters in his hand. 

Shepherd. Oscar, my boy, good morning. (Perceiving 
Leslie) And here’s our secretary. Hope I see you well, 
sir? 

Leslie, (l.) Very well indeed, thank you. 

Shepherd. Hasn’t my sister made her appearance ? 

Leslie. Not yet, sir. 

Shepherd. Probably she is not aware that you are here. 
(Calling off L.) Rachel ! (To Leslie) Take a seat, sir ; she’ll 
be here presently. (Leslie sits in arm-chair , l. c. To Oscar) 
Here’s good news for you. She’s coming home to-day. 

Oscar. To-day! 

Shepherd. Yes, some time this morning (giving Oscar 
letter). Just look what train she says, will you, while I see 
what these are ? (Sits L. of table , r. c., and opens letters .) 

Oscar, (c., aside to Leslie) The Fates are against me ! 
You hear? My cousin is coming home this morning. 

Leslie, (aside to Oscar) You have my deepest sympathy. 

Oscar. ( reading letter) “ Dear Uncle — I expect to return 
home Thursday morning on the ten o’clock train. I have 
purchased — ” 

Shepherd. ( reading from a letter which he has opened) “A 
few bottles of superfine hair-restorer, twenty-five cents a 
bottle.” ( To Oscar) Here, Oscar, throw this in the fire (gives 


PRO TEM 17 

Oscar letter). What the deuce do I want with hair-restorer ? 
(Oscar goes to fireplace , l.) 

Leslie, (aside) No, he has no hair to restore. 

Oscar. It wouldn’t do any harm to try a bottle, uncle. 

Shepherd. Eh ? 

Oscar. I — I should say — 

Shepherd ( interrupting ) Nothing, if you can’t be less per- 
sonal. (Oscar throws Bessie’s letter in the fire by mistake .) 
Well, let’s hear the rest of the letter. I haven’t had a chance 
to read it yet. What time did you say she was coming ? 

Oscar. ( reading from the hair-restoring advertisement) 
“Two weeks; money refunded if not satisfactory; best 
references.” 

Shepherd. What’s that ? I told you to throw that adver- 
tisement in the fire. 

Oscar. I thought I did. I — I am afraid I’ve made a mis- 
take. 

Shepherd, (rising) You don’t mean to say that you have 
destroyed the wrong letter ? Well, you are a — a — (hesi- 
tates). 

Oscar. The clumsiest fellow alive. 

Shepherd. (magna?timously) Oh ! that’s all right, Oscar, 
that’s all right. It was a bad blunder, but I must make 
allowances. 

Leslie, (aside) Yes, he should consider the source. 

Oscar. Now, do you know, I’m terribly sorry. 

Shepherd. Of course you are, but it can’t be helped. 
If we only knew what train she was coming on. 

Leslie, (rising) I think the letter said ten o’clock, sir. 

Oscar. Yes, that was it — ten o’clock. 

Shepherd. Then, by jingo! we ought to be off. (To 
Leslie) Do you happen to have a watch about you ? 

Leslie, (rising, looks at watch ) A quarter-past eleven. 

Shepherd. By Jove! we’ll have to hurry if we want to 
meet her at the station. (Enter Rachel, l. d.) Just wait a 
moment, Oscar, and I’ll get my hat and coat. (To Rachel) 
Why, Rachel, where have you been all this time ? Mr. Leslie 
has been waiting for you a half-hour or more. ( To Oscar) 
I’ll be here in two seconds, Oscar. 

Exit Shepherd, r. d. ' 

Rachel, (bashfully) Good morning, Mr. Leslie. I — I hope 
you have not been waiting as long as my brother says. 

Leslie. No, oh ! no ; only a few moments. (Aside) I 
should have been here two hours ago. 

Oscar. Now, do you know, aunt, you didn’t tell me you 


i8 


'PRO TEM 


had a private secretary. I think it’s awfully interesting-v 
really. He has been telling me all about the great men he 
knows. (Leslie makes signs to him to stop) If I had been—' 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. All ready, Oscar. Come, we must make 
haste. (Pushes Oscar before him up c. To Leslie) Ten 
o’clock, you thought that train was ? It would never do 
to have my niece arrive and no one there to meet her. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, d. f. 

Rachel. My niece coming home to-day ! Why, we did 
not expect her before the end of the week. 

Leslie. I believe Mr. Shepherd has just received a 
letter saying that she intends to return this morning. 

Rachel. Ah, that is why I have not heard of it before. 
And now don’t you think we had better begin ? 

Leslie. By all means. (Aside) I wonder what she is 
going to give me to do. 

Rachel, (sits r. of table) I think we came to an 
understanding yesterday as to the hours, and the a — a the 
the amount of your — your remuneration. 

Leslie. I believe so. (Aside) Twelve dollars a week! 
(Sits l. of table) 

Rachel, (aside) I must speak to him in a decided 
manner about being late. (To Leslie) Of course, Mr. 
Leslie, you understand that I expect you to be punctual. 
Nine o’clock every morning. I cannot allow you to come 
so late as you did to-day. 

Leslie, (aside) By Jove ! She is going to be strict. 

Rachel, (aside) It is very hard to be stern with him ; he 
is so handsome. 

Leslie. I am, indeed, extremely sorry for my lack of 
punctuality this morning. I feel sure my landlady would 
not have allowed me to oversleep myself had she known 
the great pleasure I had in view. 

Rachel (aside — pleased) He is perfectly charming ! 

Leslie, (aside) I hardly think a private secretary should 
flatter his employer, but it seems to have hit the target at 
least. 

Rachel, (examining articles upon table) I think we have 
everything necessary. 

Leslie. May I ask just what my duties are to be ? 

Rachel. Well — I — I have not fully decided yet. I ex- 
pect to write — or rather you are to write for me — some — a 
treatises. 


PRO TEM 


19 


Leslie, {aside) She is a litterateur ! {To Rachel) You 
will dictate, I suppose ? 

Rachel. Ye — es, I suppose so. 

Leslie. Unless you wish to write the treatises first and 
let me copy them. 

Rachel. Well — -just as you think best. 

Leslie. Pardon me — -just as you think best. {Impres- 
sively) You are but to command; I shall obey. 

Rachel, {aside) He is simply fascinating ! 

Leslie, {aside) I hit the bull’s eye that time. Flattery 
seems to be a winner. 

Rachel. Then, Mr. Leslie, if— a — you don’t object, I 
think I had better dictate. 

Leslie. I agree with you perfectly. {Aside) I might be 
unable to read her writing. 

Leslie, {to Rachel) I suppose your treatises will be 
upon literary subjects ? 

Rachel. Medical ones. 

Leslie. Indeed! {Aside) By Jove! I didn’t know she was 
a doctress. 

Rachel. I have chosen as a subject for my first treatise 
— “ Laziness.” 

Leslie. Laziness ! {Aside) I wonder if she means any- 
thing personal. 

Rachel, {placing writing materials before him) Here is 
some paper and a pen. 

Leslie. You wish me to head the first page with the 
word “ Laziness ”? 

Rachel. Yes, I think so (Leslie writes). {Aside) How 
beautifully he writes ! ( To Leslie) Now I must think for a 
moment {a pause). 

Leslie, {aside) Her thoughts don’t flow very freely this 
morning. 

Rachel, {dictating slowly) “ Laziness is the father of idle- 
ness.” 

Leslie, {aside) Some one has been telling her about me, 
that’s certain {writes). 

Rachel. Do you think I had better say, “ Laziness is 
the father or the mother of idleness ”? 

Leslie. “ Mother ” might be better. {Aside) I am sure 
the weaker sex is to blame. 

Rachel, {dictating) “ Laziness is the mother of idleness.” 

Leslie. That is a very pretty sentiment, Miss Shepherd, 
but do you wish me to repeat it ? 

Rachel. Don’t you think it would be more impres- 
sive ? 


20 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. No, a repetition can add nothing to such a power- 
ful truth. {A pause. Rachel appears lost in thought .) 

Leslie, {aside) She is getting up steam. 

Rachel, {dictating) “There is a tide in the affairs of 
men — ” 

Leslie, {aside) That sounds rather familiar. ( Writes. To 
Rachel) Men or women ? 

Rachel. Men, I think. 

Leslie. You spoke of a mother, you know. 

Rachel. Perhaps I had better say both. 

Leslie. Then you should have two tides. 

Rachel. Yes. 

Leslie. A change in the quotation might have its ad- 
vantages ; it would make it more original. 

Rachel, {aside) How very intelligent he is ! 

Leslie, {writing) There — are two — tides — in the affairs — 
of — men — and women. ( To Rachel) Is that all ? 

Rachel. Oh ! no. There are two tides which a — a {hesi- 
tates). What do you think I had better say next ? 

Leslie. What next ? Let me see — there are two tides 
which — no earthly power can oppose ; how will that 
do ? 

Rachel. Beautifully ! How very clever you are, Mr. 
Leslie. 

Leslie, {impressively) It is the inspiration, I assure you. 

Rachel. And then we can say — 

Leslie, {interrupting) Just one moment, please, until I get 
that thought of mine upon paper. {Aside) It may be my 
last brilliancy, and it’s valuable {writes hastily and the pen 
breaks). It was more than the pen could stand. Have you 
another ? 

Rachel. I — I am afraid not. 

Leslie. That’s too bad. With such a thought ringing 
in my brain — (Rachel rings bell on the table. Leslie 
springs to his feet , startled .) 

Rachel. I will send Logan for some. 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

( To Logan) Logan, I want you to go to town and buy a 
box of assorted pens. 

Logan. Any sort, ma’am ? 

Rachel. I said assorted. 

Leslie. Mixed, you know. 

Logan. Oh ! mixed. Yes, ma’am. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 


PRO TEM 


21 


Rachel. ( pushing arm-chair before fireplace , L., and sit- 
ting) Now, Mr. Leslie ; if you will kindly read what I have 
dictated. 

Leslie. ( sitting by table , r. c., reads) “ Laziness is the 
mother of Idleness.” (Aside) I don’t care for that. (Read- 
ing) “ There are two tides in the affairs of men and women, 
which no earthly power can oppose.” (Aside) That’s my 
thought: I like it immensely. (To Rachel) But, Miss 
Shepherd, I understood that this was to be a medical 
treatise. 

Rachel. So it is. 

Leslie. Do you mean it is, or it will be ? 

Rachel. It will be. I — I — must study the subject a 
little from my books. 

Leslie. Ah ! I see. This is merely the introduction. 

Rachel. Yes. 

Leslie. And we will advance to the medicinal part of 
the treatise — 

Rachel ( interrupting ) When my books arrive. I ex- 
pected them by express this morning and why they have 
not come, I cannot imagine. 

Leslie. Perhaps they are at the express office. 

Rachel. Probably ; they are so dilatory in delivering 
packages. 

Leslie. I would advise — if you will allow me — that some 
one go after them. 

Rachel. Oh ! will you ? You are very kind to offer. 

Leslie, (aside) I didn’t know that I did. 

Rachel. I would not trouble you but — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Oh ! no trouble at all. (Aside) I’ll 
have to do it now. 

Rachel. You are very good. 

Leslie, (impressively) One is never troubled when there 
is an opportunity of doing Miss Shepherd a service. (Aside) 
Another bull’s eye shot. 

Exit Leslie, d. f. 

Rachel. He is bewitching ! And he is so obliging and 
so anxious to perform my slightest wish. I am sure he 
means all those nice things ; he says them so impressively. 
And why shouldn’t he ? No doubt he is very grateful to 
me for giving him employment ; probably I have rescued 
him from absolute poverty, and he looks upon me as his 
benefactress. Shall I encourage him ? Why not, if he 
really cares for me ? Ah, me — my heart answers the ques- 
tion : I can but follow where it leads. 


22 


PRO TEM 


Exit Rachel, r. d. Enter Lena and Oscar, d. r . 
Oscar trips over the mat. 

Lena. Why didn’t you tell me that you were going to 
meet Bessie ? Then I could have gone to the station in- 
stead of coming here. 

Oscar. But I wasn’t going to meet her. 

Lena. You just said so. 

Oscar. Uncle Raymond wanted me to accompany him. 
But when I saw you I told him I — I had something import- 
ant to tell you and left him. 

Lena. I was coming here to welcome Bessie. She wrote 
me that she expected to reach home this morning. 

Oscar. So she will — in a few minutes. ( Aside — deject- 
edly) And then I must ask her to marry me. 

Lena. ( sitting by table , down l. c.) Well — what have 
you to tell me that is so important ? 

Oscar. You won’t be angry, will you ? 

Lena. Not unless you make me so. 

Oscar. I — I wanted to tell you, that — that I can’t tell you 
what I wanted to, because I must tell it to — a — to some one 
else. 

Lena, {sarcastically) That is very important. 

Oscar. Oh ! but it is, you know ; really. 

Lena. So very definite. 

Oscar. I — I was afraid you might not understand. 

Lena. I certainly do not. 

Oscar. Don’t you ? Why you see, it’s this way — I want 
to tell you something, but I can’t. 

Lena. Why ? 

Oscar. Because — « 

Lena. Is it anything that I would care to know ? 

Oscar. I — I hope so. 

Lena, {aside) I’ll make him tell me. {To Oscar) I don’t 
believe it’s anything at all. You are just trying to make 
me curious. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ; I would far rather tell you, but — 

Lena. ( interrupting ) You could if you wished. {Rising 
and holding out her hand) We are friends, Mr. Wolcott, 
are we not ? 

Oscar, {taking her hand) Of course; great friends. 

Lena, {coyly) Well, don’t you think you ought to confide 
in your friends ? 

Oscar, {aside) By Jove ! I — I’m afraid I’ll have to. 

Lena. Especially a friend who takes such an interest 
in you ? 


PRO TEM 


23 


Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Oscar. ( sees Rachel and shakes Lena’s hand vigorously , 
pretending that she has just arrived') How — de — do, Miss 
Bailey — how are you ? So glad to see you. 

Rachel. Where is Bessie ? 

Enter Shepherd and Bessie, d. f. 

Shepherd. Speaking of an angel — here she is. {All 
welcome Bessie.) 

Bessie. Home again ! 

Shepherd. “ From a foreign shore.” Yes, here you are; 
under your own vine and fig-tree. It seems a long while 
since you left. 

Bessie. Years. But none of you appear to have 
changed — unless it’s Oscar ; he has a worried look. What’s 
the trouble ? Have you been working too hard ? 

Oscar. Oh ! no. 

Bessie. I hardly imagined so. Perhaps you have 
missed the sound advice your cousin was always ready to 
give. 

Oscar. Ye — es ; I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. He appears in doubt. Never mind I will make 
up for loss of time. 

Rachel. Lunch will be ready presently ; won’t you go 
to your room first ? 

Bessie. By all means. Come, Lena, I want to tell you 
everything I have done. 

Lena. Everything ? 

Shepherd. Not everything, Bessie ; or we will have to 
postpone lunch for a couple of days. 

Exeunt Rachel, Bessie, and Lena, r. d. 

Shepherd ( throwing himself mto easy-chair by table down 
L. c.) Oscar, that girl’s a jewel. I don’t know how we have 
done without her for so long. ( Taking a cigar from his 
pocket) Will you join me ? 

Oscar. No, thanks ; I don’t feel like smoking at present. 

Shepherd. You don’t? You can’t be well {lighting 
cigar). But I wager I know the trouble. You’re in love. 

Oscar, {startled) Who — who told you ? 

Shepherd. Your actions. Why, my boy, I’ve known it 
for the past ten years. 

Oscar {aside) He thinks I’m in love with Bessie. 

Shepherd. But you ought to be happy now that your 
charmer has returned. Love is a strange thing, though. 


24 


PRO TEM 


Oscar. Very. 

Shepherd. You can never tell how it is going to affect 
a person. 

Oscar. Never. 

Shepherd. Don’t you think it about time to propose ? 

Oscar. Ye— es ; I — I suppose so. 

Shepherd. Why shouldn’t you? You are a man of 
means, and you have my entire approval ; what more do 
you wish ? ( Puts his feet on the table .) 

Oscar. Nothing more. (Aside) That’s far too much. 

Shepherd. Now this is what I call solid comfort. A 
good cigar, an easy chair, and somewhere to elevate your 
feet. I hardly think my wife would approve of my smok- 
ing here, but “ when the cat’s away,” you know. 

Enter Mrs. S., l. d., supported by Blank. 

Mrs. S. (reprovingly) Mr. Shepherd ! (Shepherd springs 
to his feet and hastily hides his cigar behind him.) Have you 
no feeling ? 

Shepherd. ( nervously ) Oh ! yes, my dear ; I — 

Mrs. S. (interruptmg) You know that I can’t endure to- 
bacco. 

Shepherd. But, my dear, this is an unusually fine cigar, 
so I didn’t think you would object. 

Mrs. S. ( beginning to cry) You never think of my nerves. 

Shepherd. Oh ! yes I do, my dear ; I am reminded of 
them so continually. 

Mrs. S. (violently) You brute ! 

Blank. My dear madam, pray calm yourself. If Mr. 
Shepherd will kindly remove his cigar — 

Shepherd. With pleasure, and myself with it. (To 
Oscar) Come, Oscar, we will go to my room. Fortu- 
nately, smoking is allowed there. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, r. d. 

(Blank supports Mrs. S. to arm-chair, l. c.) 

Blank, (sympathetically) There, there, Mrs. Shepherd. I 
am sure your husband did not realize that he was being 
unkind. 

Mrs. S. (sobbing) He is a beast ! 

Blank, (to Mrs. S., drawing a chair beside her) He for- 
gets what an invalid you are. 

Mrs. S. ( wiping her eyes) He has no sympathy. He 
takes every opportunity to hurt my feelings. 

Blank. It is really too bad ! 


PRO TEM 


ir- 


Mrs. S. He acts as if he doubted my illness. 

Blank. He does not knowhow you suffer. {Aside) And 
no one else, either. 

Mrs. S. How can I go to him for help or advice when 
he places so little confidence in me ? 

Blank. It could hardly be expected of you, I am sure. 

Mrs. S. And yet an invalid is so often in need of assist- 
ance. 

Blank, (aside) Very often — I am glad to say. 

Mrs. S. Doctor — please tell me the truth — shall I ever 
recover ? 

Blank. I sincerely hope so. You are certainly stronger. 
(Taking prescription from his pocket) I have been thinking 
that perhaps a change of medicine might be beneficial, so I 
have written this prescription which you had better have 
filled. 

Mrs. S. For my nervousness ? 

Blank. Well — a — no — not exactly. Do you wish a nerve 
tonic ? (Taking prescription-book from his pocket) I’ll write 
you a prescription for one and you can get both medicines 
at the same time. ( Writes.) 

Enter Bessie and Shepherd, r. d. 

Bessie. ( running to Mrs. S.) Why, Auntie ! I am so glad 
to see you better. 

Mrs S. Better! How can you say so, Elizabeth? 
(Bessie greets Blank with a lack of cordiality .) 

Shepherd, (aside — to Bessie) Never tell your Aunt that 
she is looking better, or you will hurt her sensitive feelings. 

Exeunt Mrs. S. and Blank, l. d. Enter Lena and Oscar, 
r. D. 

Shepherd, (taking up paper from table down R. c. and 
reads) “ Laziness is the mother of Idleness.” 

Enter Rachel, r. d. 

Shepherd, (to Oscar) Oscar, some one has been writing 
up your genealogy. 

Rachel, (with dig?iity) Pardon me, that is mine. ( Takes 
paper from Shepherd.) 

Bessie. Your genealogy, aunt ? 

Shepherd. Some of her literary efforts, I presume. 
Your Aunt Rachel has hatched out into a full-flown littera- 
teur ; with a private secretary and all that sort of thing. 

Bessie. A private secretary ! 

Oscar. Yes, and do you know he is awfully clever. 


26 


PRO TEM 


Lena. And very handsome. I passed him as I was 
coming here. 

Rachel, {proudly) He was going for some medical 
works which I have purchased. 

Enter Leslie, d. f., carrying a large bundle before him.) 

Leslie, {not perceiving the others) I am very sorry, Miss 
Shepherd, to have kept you waiting so long. 

Shepherd. Ah ! Here he is ! Let me introduce you, 
Mr. Secretary, to my niece. 

Leslie. ( recognizing Bessie, drops bundle) Miss Martin! 

Bessie, {recognizing Leslie) Mr. Leslie ! 


CURTAIN 


Act n 


ONE WEEK LATER 

SCENE. — Handsomely furnished drawing-room at Raymond 

Shepherd’s. Mrs. Shepherd discovered sitting upon 

sofa down R., unrapping papers from two bottles . 

Mrs. S. How exceedingly dilatory that druggist has 
been. It is just a week to-day since I sent him the pre- 
scriptions and the medicine has only just come. 

Enter Rachel, l. d., dressed to go out. 

Rachel. Has he come yet ? 

Mrs. S. No ; probably he — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) I declare, it is too bad. I espe- 
cially instructed him that he must always be punctual. 

Mrs. S. But, Rachel, I can’t see that it is any of your 
business. 

Rachel. None of my business ! 

Mrs. S. Dr. Blank chooses his own hours to visit me. 

Rachel. ( impatiently ) Dr. Blank! Who was speaking 
of Dr. Blank ? 

Mrs. S. I was. 

Rachel. ( sharply ) Well, I wasn’t. (A slight pause.) 

Mrs. S. Rachel, I can’t understand you at all lately. You 
are so quick-tempered and — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) Well, I’m sure I’ve enough to 
make me quick-tempered. 

Mrs. S. (aside) I don’t understand her ; she has altered 
so. 

Rachel. This is the second time he has been late. I 
forgave him the first. (Aside.) And I will have to forgive 
him again if he asks me ; he is so persuasive. 

Mrs. S. You mean Mr. Leslie, I suppose. 

Rachel. Of course. 

Mrs. S. It is absolute nonsense ; the way you act about 
that man. He is a rude, ungentlemanly — 

Rachel, (int errupting angrily) Now stop right there. I 
won’t hear another word against him : not one word ! He 
is my secretary, not yours. 


27 


28 


PRO TEM 


Mrs. S. ( beginning to cry) Oh ! how can you speak so ? 
You seem to forget that I am an invalid. 

Rachel. You have no right to speak unkindly of Mr. 
Leslie, even if you are. {Aside) And I won’t permit it 
either. {Sits at table L. c. and writes. ) {A pause) 

Enter Bessie, r. d. 

Bessie, {glances around the room — aside) He has not 
come yet. I wonder what makes him so late ! 

Rachel, {rising) Bessie, when Mr. Leslie arrives, give 
him this note and tell him that I am compelled to preside at 
a woman’s temperance meeting this morning, but I expect 
him to do his work just as if I were here. 

Bessie. Yes, Auntie. 

Rachel. I am very much provoked with him for being 
so late. 

Bessie. Shall I tell him that too ? 

Rachel. No ; I — I think not. {Aside) It would hurt his 
feelings so. {To Bessie) No doubt he will find it difficult to 
work in my absence, and if he needs any assistance — 

Bessie, {quickly) Yes, certainly ; I will help him. 

Rachel. He will have to write in this room ; the library 
is to be swept to-day. 

Bessie. Very well. 

Rachel. And see that he is kept busy until my return, 
{Goes up stage.) 

Bessie. Never fear ; I will make him work very hard. 

Rachel. But, Bessie, don’t — don’t let him overwork him- 
self. He might become ill. 

Bessie. Oh ! I won’t. 

Rachel. I must make haste. Tell him I will return as 
soon as possible. 

Bessie. I will. 

{As Rachel is about to exit , d. f., Blank enters , d. f.) 

Blank. Why, good morning, Miss Shepherd, good 
morning. That was almost a collision. I didn’t — 

Exit Rachel, d. f., hurriedly. 

{Aside) She seems to be in haste. 

Mrs. S. {languidly^) octor, I have been expecting you for 
some time. 

Blank. I am very sorry, indeed — an unavoidable deten- 
tion, I assure you. ( To Bessie) Good morning, Miss Bessie ; 


PRO TEM 


29 


you are certainly a charming picture of health. ( Advances 
toward her with hand outstretched. Bessie bows with dignity 
and turns away) 

Exit Bessie, r. d. 

Blank, {aside) Very good ; but you must give me an an- 
swer to-day. 

Mrs. S. Doctor, the medicine has come at last. 

Blank. ( interested ) Ah ! 

Mrs. S. I suppose the druggist had to send to New York 
for it, as usual. 

Blank. No doubt. He never has the need for much 
stock. {Extending his hand) May I look at it ? 

Mrs. S. Certainly. {Gives him the bottles) 

Blank, {after reading the prescriptions upon the bottles) 
Yes, these appear to be correct. 

Mrs. S. Shall I take a dose now ? 

Blank, {hesitating) Well — a — well — a — no. Suppose you 
wait until to-morrow. I want to see how — how matters 
stand by this evening. {Designating a bottle) This is a nerve 
tonic. Take a tablespoonful two or three times a day. {Des- 
ignating the other bottle) And this — well, this is to — to build 
up the system generally. Take ten drops, morning and 
evening. But wait until to-morrow, Mrs. Shepherd, wait 
until to-morrow {rises, and going l. q., places the bottles upon 
the table). Be careful not to confuse the two bottles, Mrs. 
Shepherd ; they are very similar in appearance. {Aside) I 
don’t want to poison her. ( To Mrs. S.) But I am forgetting 
to ask after the state of your health. How are you feeling 
this morning ? 

Mrs. S. Slightly stronger, I think, Doctor. 

Blank. My prophecy is coming true, you see. But you 
must be very careful not to over-exert yourself. Perhaps 
you have had enough excitement for to-day. 

Mrs. S. Yes, I am beginning to feel weary. 

Blank. You had better retire to your room, don’t you 
think ? Let me assist you. {Assists Mrs. S. to rise) Yes, 
you are certainly steadier upon your feet. No doubt, now 
that your strength is returning, your health will improve 
rapidly. {Aside) I will ask her to recommend me to her 
niece’s favor. ( To Mrs. S. while supporting her) Not too 
fast, Mrs. Shepherd. Lean upon me a little more. 

Mrs. S. O Doctor ! yoti are so kind. 

Blank. To myself, madam ; kind to myself. 

Exeunt Blank and Mrs. S., l. d. Enter Bessie, r. d. 


30 


PRO TEM 


Bessie. What can detain him ? He hasn’t been late 
since — since I came home. How noble in him to work as 
Aunt Rachel’s secretary, when he is not in need of money. 
( Struck with a sudden thought .) Can he have returned to 
New York ? Aunt Rachel employs him by the week, and 
the first week ended yesterday. Perhaps he has tired 
already of working — but no ; he wouldn’t run off without — 
without saying “ good-bye.” 

Enter Oscar, c. d. 

Oscar. Good-bye ! 

Bessie ( startled ) Oh ! 

Oscar. You mean, “ Good morning.” 

Bessie. Oh ! it’s you. 

Oscar. Yes, I — I believe so. 

Bessie. Where have you been for the past week ? 

Oscar. ( carelessly ) Oh — nowhere. I — I’ve been very 
busy, you know. 

Bessie. We thought you were never coming near us 
again. 

Oscar. Did you though ? Well I wouldn’t have, but — 
I — I — I mean, you know — ( hesitates .) 

Bessie. Oh ! don’t be embarrassed. 

Oscar. You see, I received a letter from — from Uncle 
Raymond this morning saying that he wished to see me 
immediately ; so I thought I would have to come, you know. 
( Anxiously ) He isn’t about is he ? 

Bessie. Oh ! yes. But you don’t appear very anxious to 
see him. 

Oscar. I — I’m not — that is — I — I am so very busy, you 
know. 

Bessie, (aside) I wonder what that important communi- 
cation is about. It seems to have frightened Oscar con- 
siderably. 

Oscar, (aside) Uncle Raymond is going to force me to 
propose to Bessie ; I’m sure of it. (Sits dejectedly r. of 
table l. c.) 

Bessie. What has made you so busy lately ? Business ? 

Oscar. N — no, not exactly. I have no business. 

Bessie, (warmly) And you ought to be ashamed of your- 
self too. 

Oscar, (indifferently) I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. How many times have I lectured you about 
your being without an occupation ? 

Oscar, (yawning) I never kept the score. 


PRO TEM 


31 


Bessie. A man can work at an honest employment and 
be a gentleman, and, in my opinion, a far better one than if 
he were idle. 

Oscar, {yawning) Yes, I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. I know so. 

Oscar. How do you know? You never tried being a 
gentleman. 

Bessie. Take — take Mr. Leslie, for instance. 

Oscar. Awfully clever, isn’t he ? 

Bessie. He is a gentleman. 

Oscar. Of course ; but now, do you know, there’s a great 
difference between Leslie and me. 

Bessie. A very great difference. 

Oscar. If I were poor, perhaps — 

Bessie, {interrupting) Poor ! Mr Leslie isn’t poor. 

Oscar. Oh ! but he is, you know. 

Bessie. But, Oscar, you must be mistaken ; he was not 
poor last summer. 

Oscar. You can’t tell ; he was probably taking his vaca- 
tion when you met him. But I know he is poor, for he told 
me so. 

Bessie. He told you ! 

Oscar. Yes ; he was very confiding — really. He used 
to be wealthy — 

Bessie. Has he lost his money ? 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. He told me it made it very 
hard to bear poverty now. 

Bessie. Poor man ! 

Oscar. You see, I am not compelled to work, and he is. 

Bessie, {aside) And I — I thought he was doing it to please 
me ! 

Oscar, {rising) I — I think I will leave. I’m sure uncle 
isn’t at home. ( Goes up stage.) 

Bessie. Yes he is.; I will call him. 

Oscar. Oh ! no, please don’t ; I — 

Enter Shepherd, r. d., hat in hand. 

Shepherd. Ah! good morning, Oscar. Just arrived? 
I am glad you considered my note of some importance. I’m 
also very glad that you came this morning, for I expect to 
be away this afternoon. 

Oscar, {aside) Why didn’t I wait ? 

(Bessie moves toward r. d.) 

Shepherd, {to Bessie) You needn’t go, my dear. Oscar 


32 


PRO TEM 


and I will take a little stroll in the garden. We can enjo^ 
a smoke there, and your aunt won’t allow us that privilege 
here. 

Oscar, {aside) I can’t enjoy a smoke anywhere. 

Shepherd. Well, Oscar, if you are ready— - 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. 

Shepherd, {aside) I’ll see that he proposes to Bessie at 
once ; he has procrastinated entirely too long. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, c. d. 

Bessie. The prospect of a conversation with uncle does 
not seem to be a very pleasant one to Oscar. I wonder 
what is the trouble. 


Enter Blank, l. d. 

(Bessie bows and crosses toward r. d.) 

Blank. I pray you do not withdraw on my account, Miss 
Martin. I am going — presently. 

Bessie, {aside) What makes me have such an aversion 
for that man ? 

Blank. I should like to have a few words with Miss 
Martin, if she will permit me. 

Bessie. Well ! 

Blank. Won’t you be seated ? (Bessie hesitates — then 
sits upon sofa , r.) {Aside) If she refuses — the medicine 
must assist me. {Draws a chair beside sofa , r.) {To Bessie) 
Some three months ago, I did myself the honor to formally 
propose for your hand. 

Bessie. Doctor, I asked you to never speak of that 
again. 

Blank. Yes, I know, I know; but — a — circumstances 
compel me. You went away from home, whether to avoid 
me or not, I do not know. I tried to kill the great love I 
bore you, but I could not forget you for a moment, and now 
that you have returned ; now that I see you again, my love 
seems to burn ten times stronger than before. {Rising and 
approaching her from behind the sofa) Ah, do not cast me 
entirely from you. {Bending over her) Give me some hope. 
Three months ago you refused me, but now — 

Bessie. ( rising and interrupting) The answer I gave you 
then must be your answer now. 

Blank. You can never love me ? 

Bessie. Never. 

Blank, {with determination) Then I am sorry for you — 


PRO TEM 


33 


Bessie. ( interrupting with dignity) I do not ask your pity, 
sir. 

Exit Bessie, l. d. 

Blank. ( looking after her) Very well, Bessie Martin — I 
shall give you one more chance. If you refuse — 

Enter Leslie, c. d., hastily. Stops upo?i perceiving Blank. 

Blank. ( continuing ) To-morrow Mrs. Shepherd shall 
begin her new medicine, and its weakening effect will 
strengthen the need of my services. 

Leslie, {aside) What is this that he is plotting ? {To 
Blank) Good-morning, Doctor. 

Blank, {startled, aside) The deuce ! Can he have over- 
heard. ( To Leslie) Why, good morning, Mr. Leslie. What 
a rascal you are ! I suppose you have been here for some 
time, listening to me talking nonsense to myself. 

Leslie. Oh ! no ; I just this moment came in. 

Blank, {relieved) Ah! 

Leslie, {aside) I must not appear to have heard any- 
thing. 

Blank. I have a bad habit of talking aloud to myself, 
especially when I am worried about anything. 

Leslie. When you are worried ? 

Blank. Yes; y — you see, I — I — forgot to bring some 
essential medicine. Naturally I would be worried, wouldn’t 

I? 

Leslie. Very natural indeed. {Aside) I believe I 
worry him far more than his forgetfulness does. {Sits R. of 
table , l. c.) 

Blank. Mr. Leslie, if you have just arrived you are 
quite late this morning. 

Leslie. Yes — an unavoidable detention. 

Blank, {laughing) That’s my favorite excuse. 

Leslie. I assure you I would not have used it had I 
known. 

Blank. Oh ! it is not copyrighted. {Sits in arm-chair , 

R. c.) 

Leslie, {sarcastically) If it were, no doubt the right would 
have expired. 

Blank. It has been used so long, you mean ? {Forcing 
a laugh) Ha! ha! ha! Very clever, indeed ; very clever. 

Leslie, {dryly) Thanks. 

Blank. Candidly, now, Mr. Leslie, you don’t like me— - 
do you ? 

3 


34 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Candidly, Dr. Blank, I think the dislike is mu' 
tual. 

Blank. Oh! no. 

Leslie. No ? ( Sarcastically ) You are very fond of me, 

I suppose. 

Blank. ( impatiently ) Come, come, young man ; I wouldn’t 
be so sarcastic, if I were you. 

Leslie. Pardon me, but if you were I, you would think 
and speak as I do. 

Blank. Sarcasm never pays — especially not upon me. 
( Rising , and altering his manner) Why not be friends? 
{Extending his hand ) You would find it to your advantage. 

Leslie. I hardly think we are birds of a feather, Doctor. 
We do not agree — except, perhaps, upon one point. 

Blank. And that ? 

Leslie. I have noticed that your motto seems to be, 
“ Look out for number one ” — namely, Dr. Blank ; it is a 
very wise motto. 

Blank, {aside) The insolent puppy! {To Leslie) Very 
good, sir ; I do not wish to force my friendship upon you. 

Leslie, {sarcastically) You are very kind. 

Blank, {angrily) But some day you will regret this. 

Leslie, {coolly) I hope so. I may misjudge you. 

Blank, {excitedly) But I warn you, don’t blunder into my 
plans. 

Leslie. I’ll try not to. I am well aware that schemers 
are cruel beings. 

Blank. ( furiously ) Y — y — you cur ! 

Exit Blank, c. d. 

Leslie, {rising) I’m a cur, am I ? I’ll make him pay for 
that remark. How true it is that “ one may smile and be a 
villain.” If Dr. Blank had lived in Shakespeare’s time I 
would know who inspired the poet to use those words. 
They say there are two kinds of hypocrites — the bold and the 
humble — and the humble ones are the worst ; but Dr. Blank 
is a mixture of the two — it depends upon his company. I 
am convinced that he is a thorough rascal. And he offered 
to be my friend ! {Sits in arm-chair , r. c.) I wonder if I 
look like a bad man. And yet — perhaps I did wrong in 
making him my enemy. I might have been able to keep 
others out of his web, but now — well, we understand each 
other, at least. What was he saying when I entered? “ To- 
morrow Mrs. Shepherd shall begin her medicine, and it’s 
weakening effect will necessitate my services.” Why should 


PRO TEM 


35 


he wish to give her medicine that would weaken ? Strange ! 
From all that I can learn Mrs. Shepherd has been far too 
weak for the past three months. It seems to me that what 
she needs is something to strengthen her. I wonder what 
medicine he intends giving. ( Seeing the bottles of medicine 
upon the table , l. c.) Ah ! {Rising) The means for discover- 
ing are near at hand. {Goes to the table , l. c., and takes up 
one of the bottles. After reading the prescription) Bromide 
solution. Nothing very weakening about that. Probably 
for her nerves. ( Takes up the other bottle. After reading) 
Eh ! A solution of arsenic ! That would certainly have a 
weakening effect. Why, a tablespoonful would kill her. 
{Reading from the bottle) “ Ten drops — twice daily,” A small 
dose, but large enough to keep Mrs. Shepherd in a very 
miserable condition. What in the deuce is Dr. Blank going 
to give her arsenic for ? It reminds me of the case I read 
about in the newspapers a few days ago. I wonder — ■ 
{Stops, thoughtfully) Can it be possible that Blank intends to 
follow a similar course and will keep Mrs. Shepherd in a 
weak condition, so that he can make a living at her ex- 
pense ? Why, that is what his words would imply when he 
said that the medicine would necessitate his services. By 
Jove ! It looks as if I had unintentionally blundered into a 
very pretty little scheme that Dr. Blank has plotted. If I 
have, I am going to do my best to destroy it. Let me see — > 
suppose that I were a doctor — a rascally doctor — and a 
patient of mine upon whom I had lived for three months 
was on the road to recovery. The prospect would certainly 
not be very pleasing. By Jupiter! This is becoming inter- 
esting. 

Enter Bessie, l. d. 


I certainly missed my calling. {Perceiving Bessie.) Good 
morning, Miss Martin. I have been sitting here thinking 
what a splendid villain I would make. 

Bessie. A villain ! 

Leslie. Yes. 

Bessie. Why ? 

Leslie. Why not ? 

Bessie. Because you are so late ? 

Leslie. Well — no. But I confess I owe you — I mean I 
owe Miss Shepherd an apology. My landlady was at fault 
again ; I overslept myself. 

Bessie, {trying to be severe) A very poor excuse, Mr. 
Leslie. 

Leslie. It is the only one I have in stock. 


36 


PRO TEM 


Bessie, (aside) I must try to be dignified. ( To Leslie) 
My Aunt was compelled to attend a woman’s temperance 
meeting this morning, but she requested me to inform you 
that she expects you to perform your — a- -your — (> hesitates .) 

Leslie. My duty ? 

Bessie. Yes, duty — to perform your duty just as if she 
were here. 

Leslie, (aside) How very formal she seems. (To Bessie) 
I hope, Miss Martin, that I do not need to be reminded of 
my duty — nevertheless, I shall endeavor to obey your Aunt’s 
commands. 

Bessie. Here is a note she left for you. (Giving note .) 
It contains her instructions. 

Leslie. Thank you. 

Bessie. And Aunt Rachel said that if you need any 
assistance — but I don’t suppose you do ? 

Leslie, (eagerly) Oh ! yes I do. 

Bessie. Perhaps Uncle Raymond can help you. 

Leslie. I — I — am afraid he would be of no assistance. 

Bessie. Do you — do you think I — I — could ? 

Leslie, (quickly) Of course — if only you would. 

Bessie, (hesitating) Well — 

Enter Logan, c. d. 

Leslie. It’s very good of you. 

r Bessie. Logan, please bring the writing materials and 
papers from the table in the library. 

Logan. Yes, ma’am. Do you want the big books too, 
ma’am ? 

Bessie. No, I think we will not need them to-day. 

Leslie. No, not to-day. 

Exit Logan, l. d. 

Bessie. Don’t you think, Mr. Leslie, you had better read 
the note I gave you? (Sits r. of table, l. c.) 

Leslie. Yes, of course ; I had forgotten it. (Opens note 
and reads) “ Please copy what I dictated yesterday.” Why 
I did copy it. She surely doesn’t wish me to do it again. 

Bessie. I should hardly imagine so. Probably she for- 
got that you had already done it. 

Leslie. Well, what am I to do ? 

Bessie. I scarcely know ; unless — I — I might dictate to 
you. 

Leslie. The very thing. (Sits l. of table , L. c.) 


PRO TEM 


37 


Enter Logan, l. d. 

Logan, {placing writing materials upon table) Anything 
else, ma’am ? 

Bessie. No, I think not. 

Logan, {aside) It looks as if Miss Bessie had hired the 
secretary too ; I reckon she’s more to his likin’ than Miss 
Shepherd. 

Exit Logan, c. d. 

Leslie. I am very glad that your Aunt is out. 

Bessie, {reprovingly) Mr. Leslie ! 

Leslie. I — I mean so that you can help me, you know. 

Bessie. I — I — think we had better begin. 

Leslie, {aside) She appears very anxious to make me 
work. 

Bessie. Instead of my dictating, suppose you do it 
while I write. 

Leslie. Why ? 

Bessie. Well, you are more accustomed to Auntie’s 
style. 

Leslie. Very well ; but I fear I shall make a very great 
failure. Miss Shepherd’s style is unique ; it belongs to a 
school peculiarly its own. 

Bessie, {pen in hand) I am all ready for you to begin. 

Leslie. Hem ! What do you wish me to say ? 

Bessie. Is there nothing of Auntie’s that is unfinished ? 

Leslie. Oh ! yes. In fact most of her essays. 

Bessie. Well, why not finish one ? 

Leslie. We might polish up her first attempt. 

Bessie. About “ Idleness ”? 

Leslie. “ Laziness ” is the title, I believe. 

Bessie. Practically the same thing. 

• Leslie. That was one of your Aunt’s sentiments. 
{Searches among paper si) Here it is. 

Bessie {reads it) May I ask if this is her composition or 
yours ? 

Leslie. We share the honor. 

Bessie. Well — continue. 

Leslie. What was the last effusion ? 

Bessie {reading) “ There are two tides in the affairs of 
men and women which no earthly power can oppose.” 
What nonsense ! 

Leslie. It was Miss Shepherd’s dictation, you know. 
{A pause.) 

Bessie. Well — I am waiting. 

Leslie {aside) I must make a desperate effort. {Dictat- 


38 


PRO TEM 


ing) “ Laziness is inborn ” — (Bessie writes) “ And we can 
truly say ” — 

Bessie {writing) “ Truly say” — 

Leslie {looking at Bessie as she writes) What beautiful 
hair she has ! 

Bessie {questioningly) I beg your pardon ? 

Leslie. How far have you ? 

Bessie. I — I — didn’t quite understand the last few words. 

Leslie. Where did I stop ? 

Bessie. You said “We can truly say ” — 

Leslie. Say what ? 

Bessie. I don’t know. 

Leslie. And I’m sure I don’t. There are so many 
things that we can truly say — {half aside) if we dared. 

Bessie. Suppose we pass by that sentence for the time 
being. 

Leslie. Perhaps it would be as well. Let me see — 
“ Laziness ” is the subject, isn’t it ? 

Bessie. I believe so. 

Leslie, {aside) Another mighty effort. (. Dictating .) “ It is 
from the root of laziness that the tree of poverty springs.” 
{Aside.) That’s very good indeed. 

Bessie. That reminds me, Mr. Leslie ; I want to extend 
my sympathy to you in your loss. 

Leslie. My loss ! I am perfectly happy, Miss Martin. 

Bessie. Yes, I feel sure that you would try to bear the 
loss manfully and adapt yourself to the circumstances. 

Leslie, {aside) What the deuce is she talking about ! 

Bessie. It must be very hard to be poor when one has 
enjoyed wealth. 

Leslie. But, Miss Martin — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) Oscar has told me. He said you 
had confided in him. 

Leslie, {aside) I begin to understand now. ( To Bessie) 
So Oscar told you, did he ? 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie, {aside) Those lies of mine are coming home to 
roost. I had best keep up my reputation of adapting my- 
self to circumstances by doing it in this case. ( To Bessie) 
It is exceedingly kind in you, Miss Martin, to sympathize — 
{half aside) especially when no sympathy is needed. 

Bessie. I am so very sorry. 

Leslie. But to be poor is nothing to be ashamed of, is it ? 

Bessie. No, no. 

Leslie. And should a man allow his ambition and 
desires to be fettered by thoughts of poverty ? 


PRO TEM 


39 


Bessie. Certainly not. 

Leslie. ( leaning over the table , earnestly and slowly ) 
Miss Martin, suppose a man, poor, but with the determina- 
tion to succeed — should meet a woman whose love he feels 
would guide his efforts ; and suppose — 

Enter Shepherd and Oscar, c. d. 

Shepherd. You’re just the man I want to see, Leslie. If 
you can give me a few minutes. 

Bessie. But, Uncle, Mr. Leslie is very busy. 

Leslie. Yes, very busy. 

Shepherd. I appreciate that his time is valuable — but 
so is mine. 

Leslie. Well, sir, to oblige you. 

Shepherd. Thanks, I won’t detain you but a moment. 
If you will accompany me to my study. 

Bessie. Why not remain here, Uncle ? I will go. 

Shepherd. No ; I prefer my study. Besides Oscar has 
something to say to you. ( Turning to Oscar) Am I not 
right ? 

Oscar. ( dejectedly ) I — I — suppose so. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Leslie, r. d. 

Bessie, {aside) I wonder what makes Uncle so mysterious. 
{Sits upon sofa r.) {A pause) Well ? (Oscar, with a very 
woful air , sits in arm-chair , r. c.) What is it you wish to 
tell me, Oscar ? 

Oscar. I — I — don’t want to tell you anything. 

Bessie. But Uncle said you did. 

Oscar. But Uncle doesn’t know. He wants me to tell 
you and so — a — 

Bessie, {laughing) You will have to do it ? 

Oscar. I — I — suppose so. 

Bessie. You are a very dutiful nephew. 

Oscar. Think so ? 

Bessie, {proudly) I am sure you are not compelled to 
tell me anything against your wish. 

Oscar. Oh ! but I am, you know. 

Bessie. I have no desire to hear it. 

Oscar. Perhaps not, but that doesn’t alter matters : I 
have no desire to tell it. {Aside) But I’ll have to, and the 
sooner it’s over the better. ( To Bessie) Bessie, brace your- 
self for a shock. I love you. 

Bessie. Love me ! 

Oscar. Y — yes — so Uncle says. 

Bessie. You love me. {Laughs heartily .) 


* 


40 PRO TEM 

Oscar. ( laughing weakly) Ha — ha ; awfully amusing-, 
isn’t it ? I suppose you didn’t know it before ? 

Bessie. No. 

Oscar. Neither did I. 

Bessie. It was very blind in me never to have noticed it. 

Oscar. Very. 

Bessie. And have you loved me a long time ? 

Oscar. Uncle says so. 

Bessie. It seems to me Uncle Raymond knows more 
about your love affairs than you do. 

Oscar. Oh ! no, he doesn’t. But Uncle says — ( hesitates .) 

Bessie. Well. 

Oscar. Uncle says that I — I — will have to marry you. 

Bessie. Marry me ! 

Oscar. Yes. 

Bessie, {rismg proudly) And am I to have no choice? 
Am I to be forced to marry a man who does not care for 
me and — 

Oscar. ( interrupting ) No, but — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) I shall not do it. 

Oscar. ( rising eagerly) You refuse to marry me ? 

Bessie. Positively. 

Oscar. ( delighted ) You’re an angel ! Now, do you know 
I didn’t think you would. I — I — must go ; important busi- 
ness, very important ; really. 

Enter Lena, c. d. 

O Miss Bailey ! — I am charmed — delighted. I was just 
coming to call. 

Bessie. You forget the important business, Oscar. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ! important business with Miss Bailey. 
( To Lena) I — I — want to tell you what I couldn’t say the 
other day, you know. 

Lena. Very well — after awhile — 

Oscar. No — no, I must tell you now. Won’t you come 
into the garden, please ? 

Lena. But, Mr. Wolcott — 

Bessie. Go, by all means, Lena : you will find it very 
interesting, I’m sure. 

Exeunt Lena and Oscar, c. d. (Oscar talking earnestly .) 

Bessie. So that was the mystery. Poor Oscar ! How 
very difficult he found it to confess for me a love he did 
not feel ! And how happy he was when I refused him ! His 
style of love-making was certainly a novel one. I imagine 
it is very different in the garden at the present moment. 

Exit Bessie, l. d. E?iter Shepherd a?id Leslie, r. d. 


PRO TEM 41 

Shepherd. There’s no occasion for any further debate ; 
you know my wishes. 

Leslie. But you have given me no explanation, sir. 

Shepherd. Now, look here, Leslie — sit down. I thought 
it hardly necessary to enter into details ; but you don’t ap- 
pear to fully understand the case. 

Leslie. I must confess, I do not. (Sits upon sofa , r.) It 
has been my wish ever since my niece and nephew were 
children that they should marry each other. It has been 
more than a wish ; it is a fixed purpose. ( Sits in arm-chair , 
r. c.) There are several reasons why this would be very 
advantageous to each. In the first place, Oscar has con- 
siderable wealth, but he does not know how to take care of 
it. What he needs is a good, sensible wife to steady him. 
On the other hand, my niece is an orphan, with but little 
money, but blessed with an abundance of common sense. 
What more is to be wished ? 

Leslie. Love, sir. 

Shepherd. Love ! They have it. (Leslie attempts to 
speak but Shepherd continues .) Why they have been con- 
stantly together for years ; they are as good as engaged ; in 
fact, they are looked upon as an engaged couple, by all 
their friends. And now, sir, when my hopes are about to 
be realized, you come along and tell me you love her. 

Leslie. I would not have spoken, sir — at least not so 
soon — had you not mentioned the subject to me. 

Shepherd. I was compelled to, sir. Any one could see 
with half an eye that your attentions to my niece were not 
such as became a man in your position. 

Leslie, {quietly) The position of a private secretary is 
nothing to be ashamed of. 

Shepherd, {angrily — rising ) No, of course not ; but you 
have become A Family Secretary , sir. You seem to forget 
that you are employed by my sister to work for her, and 
are not to meddle in the affairs of others. 

Leslie. (/ ising — with dignity) Mr. Shepherd, I do not for- 
get that you are a gentleman, and I ask that you will re- 
member that I am one. 

Shepherd, {repenting his anger) You’re right, Leslie ; I 
spoke hastily. {Half aside) Confound my beastly temper ! 
I — I’m sorry that I have to kill your hopes in this way, but 
I had no idea that it had gone so far with you. But you 
see how it is, don’t you ? 

Leslie, {hesitating) Well — 

Shepherd. You don’t wish to stand in the way of my 
niece’s happiness ? 


42 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Never, sir. 

Shepherd. I thought not. You’re a manly fellow, 
Leslie, and I like you. You would make a good husband, 
I feel sure of that ; but even supposing that my niece and 
nephew cared nothing for each other, there would still be a 
very great obstacle in the way of a marriage with Bessie. 

Leslie. What, sir? Her lack of love for me ? 

Shepherd. No, your lack of money for her. 

Leslie. ( eagerly ) If that is the only obstacle, I feel sure 
— {Recollecting — aside.) By Jove ! I forgot that I had ac- 
knowledged myself to be poor. 

Shepherd. I know what you were going to say. Per- 
haps you can earn a good salary in time, but twelve dollars 
a week is all you make at present, I believe — you can’t save 
much out of that — and the future is very uncertain. 

Leslie, (aside) Why did I ever tell that lie ? 

Shepherd. I am very sorry for you, Leslie, but it can’t 
be helped. Oscar and Bessie love each other and — 

Leslie, (mterrupting — passionately) They do not love 
each other ! 

Shepherd. Eh ! 

Leslie. Oscar told me that he loved Miss Bailey. 

Shepherd. What! Impossible! Why, sir, while we 
were in that room together, my nephew was in this, pro- 
posing to my niece. No doubt it is all arranged by this time. 

Enter Logan, c. d. 

(To Logan) Logan, where is Miss Bessie? Have you 
seen her? 

Logan. No, sir. 

Shepherd, (goes up stage and looks out window) Ah ! 
What did I tell you ? There she is in the garden. Look 
for yourself. 

Logan. That’s Miss Bailey, sir. 

Shepherd. Miss Bailey ! With Oscar ? 

Logan. I seen them goin’ out into the garden together, sir. 

Shepherd. But — but he has his arm around her waist. 
What’s he doing now ? (Excitedly .) Stop that, you rascal ! 
Stop I say ! 

Exit Shepherd, c. d., running, followed by Logan. 

Leslie. That doesn’t appear as if Oscar loved his cousin 
very much. Perhaps she refused him and — and — she's 
free / (Dances around the stage) But even if she cares for 
me, what can I do ? Here I am — a wealthy man — yet sup- 
posed to be poor. It’s generally the other way. Now how 
in the deuce — why of course — I will tell them the truth. 


PRO TEM 


43 


But they won’t believe it and why should they ? When I 
agreed to a lie they thought it the truth and now if I tell 
them the truth, they will certainly think it a lie. Mr. Shep- 
herd will say that I am pretending to have money, in order 
to overcome the obstacle to my marriage with his niece. 
No, I can’t tell them. I will have to become wealthy some- 
how. If Uncle Dan had only postponed his death — By 
Jove! that’s a good idea. I’ll make him die over again. 
It’s rather hard on the old man, but it’s the only way he 
has ever been of service to me. It’s true I received all his 
money after his death five years ago, but it was not because 
he left it to me — Oh ! no — I was the only heir and he left no 
will. His death, then, brought me wealth ; his death now, 
will bring me a wife. Yes, my dear uncle, this is a case of 
“ your money or your life,” and since I know, were you 
alive, you would not help me with one cent of your money, 
I will take it by force and you must die. But when ? The 
sooner the better — to-night. To-morrow I shall receive a 
telegram from a lawyer announcing his death and inform- 
ing me that I am his heir. I will write that telegram now. 
(Goes to table , and writes.) There ! (Rising.) This will re- 
store me to my normal condition. ( Waving the paper above 
his head.) This will bring me wealth and the possibility of 
winning the dearest girl in the world. I am a Family 
Secretary, am I ? 

Enter Rachel, c. d. 

Henceforth I have but one aim in life — one desire — to 
work for the woman I love. I shall cease to be a secretary 
Pro Tern, and be her servant forever. How difficult it was 
while we were working together, to restrain myself from 
telling my love. I shall devote all my energies to win her, 
and if I fail — 

Rachel, (interrupting — coyly) You shall not fail. 

Leslie, (aside) The deuce ! 

Rachel. I have heard your sweet words. You shall 
have your wish. 

Leslie. I shall ? Will you help me ? 

Rachel. With all my heart. 

Leslie. And how long do you think I must wait for my 
wish to come true ? 

Rachel. You can have it now. 

Enter Shepherd, c. d., and Bessie, l. d. 

Leslie (eagerly) Now! 

Rachel. ( throwing her arms around him) Yes ; now and 
forever. 


CURTAIN 


Act III 


AN INTERVAL OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS 

SCENE. — The same as in Act I. 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. ( calling ) Bessie ! Bessie ! Where in the thun- 
der is that girl ! I am going to have this matter settled, once 
and for all. It has gone a great deal farther than I had any 
idea of. Why, I believe she is beginning to care for him. 
The idea ! Leslie is a nice fellow, a very nice fellow, but 
she ought to know that it takes more than an agreeable man 
to make a good husband. ( Scornfully ) Twelve dollars a 
week ! He is little better than a pauper. ( Sits by table down 
R. c.) How Oscar has upset all my plans ! But it wasn’t his 
fault. He proposed to Bessie, although he was in love with 
another girl. That’s what I call noble. Yes, she is to blame. 
What right had she to refuse him, I would like to know ? 
She had no reason for doing it, unless — ( Hesitating ) I 

wonder if she loves Leslie ? Perhaps — if they would be 
happy I should — ( Hesitates — Quickly) No ! no ! it is not 

to be thought of. Love won’t feed and clothe them. 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan. Here’s a note for you, sir — -just come. 

Shepherd. ( taking note) Any reply ? 

Logan. No, sir. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 

Shepherd. ( opens note and reads) “ Dear Sir. Kindly in- 
form Miss Shepherd that I shall be unavoidably detained 
this morning ; the inclosed telegram will explain. Yours 
sincerely, Henry Leslie.” Where is the telegram ? Ah ! 
here it is. ( Draws the telegram from envelope. Reads tele- 
gram, then gives along whistle) Well, I’ll be bio wed! 

Enter Oscar, d. f. 

Oscar. ( tripping over mat) So will I. ( Looking arotind 
room) H — has she been here ? 

44 


PRO TEM 45 

Shepherd, (rises, handing telegram to Oscar) Oscar, what 
do you think of that ? 

Oscar, (takes telegram and reads it) I think that jolly 
lucky for Leslie. It was awfully kind of his uncle to die 
and leave him a fortune, wasn’t it ? 

Shepherd, (grasping Oscar’s hand, warmly) My boy, I 
can’t thank you enough for becoming engaged to Miss 
Bailey. 

Oscar. Where is she ? 

Shepherd. What you needed was a balance, and you 
have found one. You have my hearty approval. 

Oscar. Thanks, awfully. Have you seen her ? 

Shepherd. You and Bessie would never have been 
happy. 

Oscar. No, but — 

Shepherd, (interrupting) I know a man who will make 
her a magnificent husband. 

Oscar. I — I didn’t want her. 

Shepherd. You couldn’t have had her. 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Shepherd. Logan, take this note and telegram to Miss 
Shepherd, and— no, you had better not. (Aside) Such news 
would make her only the more unreasonable. ( To Logan) 
Tell her that I have just received word from Mr. Leslie that 
important business will prevent him from coming this morn- 
ing. 

Logan. Yes, sir. (Goes toward l. d.) 

Shepherd. And, Logan — 

Logan, (stopping l.) Sir ? 

Shepherd, (inclosing telegram in the envelope) You can 
give this note to Miss Bessie. 

Logan. Very good, sir. 

Shepherd. You understand? 

Logan. Certainly, sir ; tell Miss Bessie that Mr. Leslie 
can’t come, and — 

Shepherd, (interrupting) No, no, no ; not at all. Why 
don’t you pay attention ? Give the note to Miss Bessie and 
the message to Miss Shepherd. 

Logan. All right, sir. 

Shepherd. Now be sure you get it straight. If you 
don’t — 

Logan. I will, sir. 

Exit Logan, l. d. 

Oscar. Has Lena— I should say Miss Bailey— no, I 
shouldn’t — I mean Lena — have you seen her ? 


46 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd. No. 

Oscar. Dear me ! That’s awfully strange, isn’t it? 

Shepherd. Not at all. 

Oscar. I called for her, you know, and they said she 
had come here. 

Shepherd. She hasn’t. 

Oscar. Hasn’t she, though ? Well, good-bye. 

Shepherd. Going ? 

Oscar. Yes ; I — I’ve a little affair to a — a — to attend to. 

Shepherd. Love affair, eh ? All right ; good-bye. 

Exit Oscar, d. f. 

Nothing could be better. Leslie’s esteemed uncle couldn’t 
have chosen a more appropriate time for his departure. The 
one obstacle has been removed, and — By Jove! There’s 
another. How am I going to bring the young folks together ? 
How can I tell Leslie I approve of the match when only 
yesterday I strongly objected ? It’s true that circumstances 
have greatly altered the case. Yesterday he was poor; to- 
day he is wealthy. But that’s just the difficulty. It would 
appear so deuced mercenary. He would think that his 
money was what we were after. I am afraid I have med- 
dled entirely too much as it is. I had better leave the ques- 
tion alone. But I want to see matters satisfactorily arranged, 
and since I caused the trouble I ought to be the one to — 

Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Rachel. Where is Henry’s note ? 

Shepherd. You refer to Mr. Leslie, I suppose ? 

Rachel. ( excitedly ) Let me see it ! I must see it ! 

Shepherd, {quietly) No, you mustn’t ; and what’s more, I 
won’t let you. 

Rachel. But it belongs to me. 

Shepherd. Oh ! no, it doesn’t. 

Rachel. Henry is mine, and — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Rachel, what perfect nonsense ! 
I thought that after the lengthy debate we had last evening, 
you had given up such a preposterous idea. 

Rachel. Is it preposterous to think that he cares for 
me ? 

Shepherd. Very. You are no longer a girl. 

Rachel. Perhaps not, but — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) You are no longer young. 

Rachel. No ; nor foolish. 

Shepherd. I can’t agree with you there. You have no 
cause — 


PRO TEM 47 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) I have every cause. Mr. Leslie 
told me that he loved me. 

Shepherd. He told you that ? 

Rachel. ( hesitating ) Well — not exactly in words. 

Shepherd. No, I thought not. His explanation is a 
very reasonable one. He was speaking of a girl whom he 
loves — {aside) It is very easy to guess who she is — {To 
Rachel) — Not knowing that you were in the room, you, 
very foolishly, thought yourself the girl. 

Rachel. But he embraced me. 

Shepherd. You embraced him, you mean. 

Rachel. Oh ! 

Shepherd. He was powerless. 

Rachel. Raymond ! 

Shepherd. Rachel ! 

Rachel. How dare you speak so ! 

Shepherd. I am armed with the sword of truth. If you 
realize what an idiot you are making of yourself, you — 

Rachel. ( interrupting — crying) You are a brute ! 

Shepherd. You are mistaken. 

Rachel. Your wife is right — you have no sympathy. 

Shepherd. Not with such conduct. 

Rachel. Dr. Blank says that you — 

Shepherd, {interrupting, angrily) I don’t care what Dr. 
Blank says. Tell him to mind his own business. I am 
tired of his interference in what doesn’t concern him. 

Rachel, {going toward r. d.) You are very unjust. 

Shepherd. You make yourself ridiculous. 

Rachel. You beast ! 

Shepherd. You man-eater S 

Exeunt Rachel and Shepherd, r. d., talking angrily. 

Enter Blank, d. f. 

Blank. No one here ? Good. This morning Mrs. Shep- 
herd shall take her first dose of the arsenic. I shall go away 
for a day or two so that she shall appreciate the value of my 
services. What a sniveller she is. And that girl : how I 
hate her with her prudish dignity. But I would have 
married her for her money’s sake, and I’d have broken her 
spirit very soon. 

Enter Rachel, r. d. 

Rachel. O Doctor ! I am so glad you have come. 

Blank. Anything the matter with Mrs. Shepherd ? You 
appear worried. 

Rachel. My brother is so unkind. 


48 


PRO TEM 


Blank. Impossible. 

Rachel. He treats me as he would a child. 

Blank. You amaze me. {Aside) She is old enough, cer- 
tainly. 

Rachel. And he has been saying the most unkind things 
about — about — {Hesitates) 

Blank. (< encouragingly ) Yes ? 

Rachel. About you. 

Blank. About me ! 

Rachel. Yes, but it is because he is in such a temper. 
You won’t notice anything disagreeable he may say, will 
you ? 

Blank. Certainly not. 

Rachel. You are so forgiving! 

Blank, {aside) I fear Shepherd doesn’t favor me. I hope 
I can carry out my plans without his interference. {To 
Rachel) Miss Shepherd, I realize that there are so many 
thoughtless things a man might say in anger that he would 
not think of saying were his temper normal. I have en- 
deavored to serve your brother faithfully by bestowing my 
professional attentions upon his wife — 

Rachel. I am sure she, at least, appreciates your kind- 
ness. You are restoring her to health. 

Blank. She is better to-day ? 

Rachel. Yes, she appears much stronger. 

Blank, {aside) The medicine will soon weaken her. ( T& 
Rachel) Is she ready to see me ? 

Rachel. I think so. Come with me, and I shall inquire. 

Enter Bessie, l. d. 

Blank, {to Bessie) Ah ! Good morning, Miss Martin. 
(Bessie bows coldly. To Rachel) After you, Miss Shep- 
herd. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

{To Bessie) You still hold to yesterday’s determination? 

Bessie. It is unnecessary to repeat what you already 
know. 

Blank. But is your decision final ? 

Bessie. Final. 

Blank, {with determination) Very good. I’ll make you re- 
gret that decision. 

Exit Blank, l. d. 

Bessie. What can he mean ? I surely am not to blame 
for being unable to love him. If I love another — {Stops 
and reads the note Shepherd has sent her) But does he care 


PRO TEM 


49 


for me ? ( Sitting by table , r. c.) Now that he is no longer 
poor, now that he is independent and there is no necessity 
for him to work, will he choose to marry — 

Enter Leslie, d. f., hurriedly . 

Leslie. Miss Martin ! 

Bessie. ( startled ) Oh! 

Leslie, {eagerly) Has he been here ? 

Bessie. Who ? 

Leslie. Dr. Blank. 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie. By Jove! {Anxiously) He hasn’t been here 
long ? 

Bessie. Only a few minutes, I believe. 

Leslie. Thank goodness ! I thought I should be too 
late. 

Bessie, {aside) I wonder what he is talking about. 

Leslie. Where is he now ? 

Bessie. Mr. Leslie, you seem to imagine that I am a bu- 
reau of general information. 

Leslie. No, no ; far from it. 

Bessie. That is going to the other extreme. 

Leslie, {aside) I was so interested in arranging Uncle 
Dan’s death that I entirely forgot Blank and his plans. I 
hope I am in time to spoil them. 

Bessie. Mr. Leslie, I received your note. I — I mean 
Uncle received it. 

Leslie. You understand matters, then ? 

Bessie. Yes, I think so. {Sits by table , r. c.) 

Leslie, {aside) I think not. I can’t accuse Blank without 
being sure that he intends to act the villain. 

Bessie. I was very sorry to hear of your uncle’s death. 

Leslie. It was quite an agreeable surprise, wasn’t it ? I — 
I mean it was a great blow. 

Bessie. Was his death very sudden ? 

Leslie. Very. You see, when it was decided that he must 
die — {recollecting himself) that is to say, when the doctors 
had given up hope, you know, he — he thought he might as 
well depart. 

Bessie, {aside) Poor fellow ! How bravely he tries to ap- 
pear cheerful ! ( To Leslie) I — I suppose you will — you will 
resign your position as secretary now. 

Leslie. Oh ! I don’t know. 

Bessie. Don’t you ? 

Leslie. I haven’t fully decided. I didn’t expect to come 
to-day, however — there are a number of things that require 
4 


50 


PRO TEM 


my attention — but I happened to remember that I had a 
special appointment with — with Dr. Blank. 

Bessie. Are you ill ? 

Leslie. No, not exactly. ( A pause) Miss Martin, I have 
something important to say to you. 

Bessie. To me! 

Leslie. Yes, it concerns a — a — some one else. 

Bessie. Then why do you speak of it to me ? 

Leslie. Oh ! it concerns you also. (Sits c.) I — I scarcely 
know how to begin. (A slight pause ) Miss Martin, are any 
of your friends scoundrels ? No — no ; I don’t mean that. I 
mean do you know any rascals or — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) You seem to have a very poor 
opinion of my list of acquaintances. 

Leslie. Not at all : I have difficulty in expressing my- 
self, that is all. Let’s say, that I am a villain. 

Bessie. A villain ! 

Leslie. Well then, a rascal. Yes, a gentleman rascal. 

Bessie. But why should we say so ? 

Leslie. Oh ! just for amusement’s sake, you know. 

Bessie. I — I — think you uiust be ill, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Perhaps so. I will consult Dr. Blank, presently. 
But let’s suppose that I am a rascal, and that I have planned 
to rob your aunt of her health and strength — 

Bessie. ( rising and interrupting ) Mr. Leslie, I hardly 
think that a matter to jest upon. 

Leslie. ( rising — earnestly ) Believe me, I was never more 
in earnest. I fear I have discovered a plot against your 
aunt. 

Bessie. A plot against Auntie ! 

Leslie. Yes ; I cannot tell you by whom — at least not 
now — but if you will give me the information I want, I may 
be able to prevent it. 

Bessie, (hesitating) But — 

Leslie. No time for buts now : we must act. Does your 
aunt know the nature of her medicine ? 

Bessie, (still hesitating) I do not think I ought — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Miss Martin, do you not trust me ? 

Bessie. Perfectly. 

Leslie. Do you not see that I am trying to serve you ? 

Bessie. Forgive me if I have appeared to doubt you 
for a moment. Please do not misunderstand me. I hesi- 
tated only because I doubted my right to give the informa- 
tion you desire. 

Leslie. And you will tell me what you know ? 

Bessie. Everything. 


PRO TEM 


5 * 


Leslie. Some one is coming. 

Bessie. Shall we adjourn to the garden ? 

Leslie. Yes; we can be alone there. 

Exeunt Leslie and Bessie, d. f. Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. Yes, I’m tired of it. ( Sneeringly ) “ Dr. Blank’s 
so kind, so thoughtful.” I have heard nothing else for three 
months. I don’t believe he could cure a ham. He has 
been of no benefit to any one in this house — unless to him- 
self. And his charges are tremendous ! But I am going to 
put an end to them. When I have finished arranging this 
little love-affair, I will tackle the doctor. It’s a good thing 
to have some sort of employment. I don’t believe match- 
making is my forte, but I have undertaken to steer this 
couple into the harbor of matrimony, and I am going to do 
it — unless some hidden rock should cause a wreck. ( Goes 
up r. c.) Now if Leslie had come this morning, I could 
at least have had some chance of bringing them to- 
gether, and — ( looks out of the window , r. f.) By Jingo! 
There they are. {Shaking his head) That doesn’t appear very 
lovelike. Why they are walking two feet apart, at least ! 
Perhaps it’s because they are afraid of being seen. Ah ! 
they will soon be in the shadow of that tree : then we shall 
see. Only a few more steps. Now! {A slight pause) Well 
I’ll be hanged ! He acts as if he had never had any love- 
making experience. He appears to be arguing or giving 
her directions about something. Why in the deuce doesn’t 
he wait until he’s married. {Coming down stage) There 
seems to be something more necessary than just to bring 
them together. {Sits l. of table , r. c.) I will have to bring 
matters to a crisis in some way. ( Takes up ball of worsted 
from table , or*e end of the worsted is fastened to some fancy 
work) “ Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” 
It will have to be a trap in this case, and I must assist Cupid 
to set it. But what kind of a trap? that’s the question. 
And what will be the most tempting bait ? {In anger. 
Throwing the ball of worsted across the table upon the floor) 
Confound Cupid ! I wish he would catch his own game. 
Now, why did I throw that ball on the floor ? That’s my 
ugly temper again. I suppose I will have to pick it up. 
{Rises.) {Struck with an idea) By Jingo ! A splendid idea ! 
Yes ; I will make Leslie pick it up. It shall be a fish line 
baited at both ends, and the fishes that are to be caught 
shall fish for each other. Why, I am positively brilliant ! 
( Takes a piece of paper from the table and /ears off a small 
scrap) This shall be the fly. ( Writes) “ Mr. Henry Leslie.” 


52 


PRO TEM 


I will place it under this fancy work — no, on top will be 
better. (Does so) So much for the female fish. Now for 
the male. ( Tears off another small piece of paper) What 
shall I tempt him with ? Ah ! I have it ! ( Writes) “ Mrs. 
Henry Leslie.” (Laughs) Ha — ha — ha. I will place it 
under the ball. (Places the ball on the floor about ten feet up 
R.) I think that’s about the right distance. They mustn’t 
be too near each other, for he will wish to say a good deal 
while he is winding. That’s a very fine trap, in my opinion. 
Cupid ought to be perfectly satisfied. (Sits L. of table , r. c.) 

Enter Logan, l. d. 

Logan, go and tell Miss Bessie and Mr. Leslie that I — 1 
think it’s too cold in the garden. 

Logan. Yes, sir. 

Shepherd. Tell them they will find it very pleasant in 
here. (Half aside) At least they ought to. 

Logan. Yes, sir. (Goes up c., sees ball of worsted on the 
floor up r., picks it up and begins winding ) 

Shepherd, (thinking himself alo?ie) She will sit here with 
her back to him — -just as I am. He will see the ball and 
naturally will think some one has dropped it. Then he will 
pick it up and begin to wind. Gradually he will approach 
the table and me — that is to say — Bessie. As he realizes 
that he is being drawn nearer and nearer, he will make 
haste. Finally as he gains the table, he will say — 

Logan. Beg pardon, sir, but I found this on the floor. 

Shepherd. (Rising— furiously) What the deuce ! Drop 
that ball ! Drop it, I say ! (Logan drops the ball on the floor) 
Why didn’t you do what I told you ? 

Logan. I — I — thought, sir — 

Shepherd (interrupting) You had no business to think. 
Go immediately ! Do you hear ? 

Logan. Yes, sir. 

Shepherd. Then go ! 

Exit Logan, d. f., hurriedly. 

(Shepherd picks up ball) The good-for-nothing fellow. 
He is entirely too attentive. Now, how shall I prevent this 
ball being picked up except by Leslie ? I don’t want to 
catch the wrong fish. I will put it nearer the table this 
time. (Places the ball on the floor r. of table) Now if any 
one should come — 

Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Rachel. Raymond, I wish to have a few minutes con' 
versation with you about — 


PRO TEM 53 

Shepherd, interrupting) Don’t you think we have 
talked enough upon that subject ? 

Rachel. Decidedly not. 

Shepherd. Nonsense. You know my opinion and I 
know yours — unless you’ve had sense enough to change it. 

Rachel. I still think that Mr. Leslie’s affections belong 
to me, and if he disputes my claim I shall appeal to 
justice. 

Shepherd. ( sarcastically ) And what represents justice ? 

Rachel. The law. 

Shepherd. You don’t mean that you will sue him ? 

Rachel. Most certainly. 

Shepherd. Now look here, Rachel ! Don’t be idiotic. 
You would have absolutely no case. 

Rachel. A Breach of Promise. 

Shepherd. Leslie made no promise ; he didn’t make a 
proposition even. 

Rachel. He embraced me. 

Shepherd. No ; you did the embracing. 

Rachel. It’s the same thing. 

Shepherd. Leslie wouldn’t think so. 

Rachel. If he had objected he shouldn’t have allowed it. 

Shepherd. He couldn’t prevent it. 

Rachel. I have witnesses — 

Shepherd, {interrupting ) Yes ; I was one of them and 
just as soon as you bring any such ridiculous suit, I swear, 
that as an eye-witness, I will take great pleasure in testify- 
ing against you. 

Rachel. Well, if my own immediate family will not 
support me — 

Shepherd, {interrupting) They won’t, I assure you. 
Take my advice — give up this nonsense. Tell Leslie that 
you no longer need a secretary and — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) What ! Discharge him ! 

Shepherd. Yes, or he will discharge himself. 

Rachel. I must have a talk with him first. Dr. Blank 
advised me to — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Hang Dr. Blank ! 

Rachel, {reprovingly) Raymond! 

Shepherd. Yes, I repeat it. 

Rachel. You speak very unfeelingly of your wife’s 
physician. 

Shepherd, {sneeringly) My wife’s physician! What 
benefit has he ever been to her ? I believe she would have 
been entirely well long ago, if she had been left alone. 
(. Furiously .) And she shall be left alone in future, too. 


54 


PRO TEM 


After to-day, Dr. Blank’s services shall be dispensed with. 
I’ll be ray wife’s physician, hereafter. 

Rachel. Why, Raymond ! what do mean ? 

Shepherd. Precisely what I have said. 

Rachel. You surely do not intend to dismiss the 
Doctor ? 

Shepherd. I do ; just as soon as I have an opportunity. 

Enter Mrs. S. and Blank, l. d. 

Blank. It’s just as I told you, my dear madam. You 
are very much stronger. Why, you can walk alone. ( To 
Shepherd) Good morning, Mr. Shepherd. I am so de- 
lighted to be able to report the progress your charming 
wife is making on the road to complete recovery. (Mrs. 
Shepherd sits l.) 

Enter Leslie and Bessie, d. f. Stop up c. 

Shepherd. I am very glad to hear it, indeed. 

Blank. As I have just informed Mrs. Shepherd, import- 
ant business necessitates my absence from town — 

Mrs. S. How can I do without you ? 

Shepherd. Oh ! you will soon become accustomed to it. 

Blank. I shall be absent but a few days. 

Leslie, {aside to Bessie) I’ll wager he never returns. 

Rachel, {to Blank) We shall be so glad to welcome 
you home again. 

Shepherd. No, we won’t. 

Rachel. ( reprovingly ) Raymond! 

Shepherd. I — I — mean, Doctor, that since my wife 
seems to have regained her health and strength, I think 
she will not require your services in future. 

Mrs. S. Mr. Shepherd! 

Blank. Eh! W — Why what do you mean! You 
surely can’t suspect — I — I mean you don’t think that I have 
been of no benefit to your wife ? I think you are acting 
very unwisely, sir. 

Shepherd. I think not. 

Blank. Your wife is but convalescent. Another physi- 
cian would not understand her case. She might experience 
a relapse that would prove serious. As her physician, I 
protest. 

Shepherd. As her husband, so do I. 

Blank, {aside) My plans are defeated. 

Mrs. S. {rising) Raymond, you seem to give me no 
choice in the matter. 

Shepherd. None whatever, my dear. You have had 


PRO TEM 


55 


your choice for three months past, now I am going to have 
mine. ( To Blank) Candidly, Doctor, I have not been at 
all satisfied with my wife’s treatment. 

Blank. Indeed ! {Aside) If that medicine is discovered 
my reputation will be ruined. 

Shepherd. It has been entirely too tedious and ex- 
pensive. 

Leslie, {aside to Bessie) Quick ! Bring the bottles of 
medicine from your aunt’s room. (Leslie and Bessie talk 
together in pantomime') 

Blank. Then you wish me to cease my visits after to- 
day. 

Shepherd. That was the meaning my words were in- 
tended to convey. 

Leslie, {aside to Bessie) If you meet him, don’t stop. 
Make haste ! 

Exit Bessie, l. d. 

Blank. Very good, sir. I shall leave immediately. I do 
not wish to remain where I am not wanted. {Aside) I must 
take the medicine with me. ( To Shepherd) Oh ! by the 
way, I left my — my case of instruments in Mrs. Shepherd’s 
room. I almost forgot it. 

Exit Blank, l. d. 

Mrs. S. {bursting into tears. To Shepherd) You unfeeling 
monster ! 

Shepherd. Come, come; you have done nothing but 
cry and call me names for months. I am heartily tired 
of it. 

Mrs. S. {crying) I shall retire to my room and — 

Shepherd. No, Blank is there, and there is no necessity 
for you to see him again. 

Mrs. S. Am I not the mistress of my own house ? 

Shepherd. Yes, but not the master. If you must cry, 
go into the drawing-room, and, Rachel, you had better 
accompany her. {Aside) Then the young couple will have 
an opportunity to test my trap. 

Exit Mrs. S., r. d., crying. 

Rachel. I wish to have a few words with Mr. Leslie. 

Shepherd. Mr. Leslie is busy. 

Leslie. Yes, I’m busy. 

Shepherd, {seeing that Bessie has left the room) Hello! 
where is Bessie ? 

Leslie. She will return presently. 


5 $ 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd, {to Rachel) Another time, Rachel, when Mr. 
Leslie has transacted his business. {Pushes her across the 
stage toward R. D.) 

Rachel. You are a brute ! 

Shepherd. Am I? Well, you should be a judge. 

Rachel. You ought to be ashamed. 

Shepherd. I am. You should behave better. 

Exit Rachel, r. d. 

Shepherd, {aside) I will leave them to their fate. 

Exit Shepherd, r. d. 

Leslie. What if I have made a great mistake and am 
accusing him wrongfully ? But, no, no ; I am right, I am 
sure of it. {Goes to door r. and locks it) There ! Puts key in 
his pocket) Now for the other door. {Hurries to door in F.) 

Enter Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

Oscar. Good-morning, Leslie, old chap. 

Leslie. ( nervously ) Good afternoon. {Aside) What in the 
deuce shall I do with them ! 

Lena. You appear excited about something, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Yes, I — I am. 

Lena. Are you sick ? 

Leslie. Oh! no. 

Oscar. You’re not ill, are you ? 

Leslie. I — I am very busy ; you must excuse me. 

Oscar. Of course, old man ; but — 

Leslie, {interrupting) An important consultation with Dr. 
Blank, you know, over the state of his health — I — I mean 
my health — both our healths. Sorry I can’t admit you — 

Oscar. But I say, you know — 

Leslie. Yes, I know ; but I think the Doctor would pre- 
fer it to be strictly private. 

Lena. Well, we will — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Must you go ? Well, call again. 

Oscar. We will wait in the garden. 

Leslie. Good. You will find the air delightful, I am 
sure. 


Exit Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

(Leslie Locks the door and puts the key in his pocket. ) 

Why doesn’t Miss Martin return ? If I could compel the 
Doctor to confess, or if— {Struck with a sudden idea) By 
Jove ! A brilliant idea ! 


PRO TEM 


57 


Enter Bessie, l. d. 

( Eagerly ) Have you the bottles ? 

Bessie. Yes. ( Gives him the bottles .) 

Leslie. Good. I am going to try to frighten the Doctor 
into a confession. 

Bessie. I will leave you alone with him. 

Leslie. No, no ; I wish you to be a witness. But — but 
it will not be best for him to know that you are present. 
Suppose you hide behind that screen. He will return pres- 
ently. 

(Bessie hides behind the screen , l.) 

(. Examining bottles) My hopes are realized. Mrs. Shep- 
herd has not yet taken any of this medicine. ( Taking the 
cork from one of the bottles and pouring some of the conte?its 
upon the floor) I will make the Doctor imagine that she 
has taken a tablespoonful of this solution of arsenic by mis- 
take. (Puts the bottles upon the mantel over the fireplace , L.) 
It is time the Doctor was returning. I must be occupied at 
something. (Looks around) Ah! I know. I’ll be reading. 
(Sits up , l. Takes newspaper from his pocket .) 

Enter Blank, l. d., hastily. 

(Leslie pretends to be reading — holding the paper upside 
down — and watches Blank.) 

Blank, (riot perceiving Leslie. Aside) There is no time 
to be lost. The medicine can’t be found. I can catch the 
next train for the north and be hundreds of miles from here 
in a few hours. (Goes to door in flat— finds it locked) By 
Heaven ! What does this mean ? 

Leslie, (yawning) Why, Doctor, is that you ? 

Blank. Where’s the key to this door ? 

Leslie, (sleepily) By Jove! but I am sleepy. 

Blank, (angrily) Why don’t you answer me? Who 
locked it? 

Leslie. Locked what ? 

Blank. Don’t you see that I wish to go out ? 

Leslie. Well, why don’t you ? Oh ! by — the— -way, 
have you seen Miss Martin ? I believe she desires to speak 
to you. 

Blank. Yes, I saw her. 

Leslie. Did you ? 

Blank. I passed her just now. She didn’t appear to 
have anything to say. 


58 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Didn’t she though ? That’s strange too. No 
doubt she was in haste to bring her aunt’s medicine. 

Blank. ( anxiously ) Has — has Mrs. Shepherd taken a 
dose ? 

Leslie. ( carelessly ) About a tablespoonful, I should 
judge. 

Blank. Eh ! A tablespoonful ! Oh ! you refer to the 
bromide solution. What did she do with it ? 

Leslie. Swallowed it, I imagine. 

Blank. I mean where did she put the bottle ? I’m tired 
of this bantering. 

Leslie. ( rises and goes to mantel. Takes the bottle from 
which he has poured a tablespoonful of the medicine and gives 
it to Blank) Is that the bottle you wish ? 

Blank. ( taking the bottle — agitated ) What ! She — she — 
didn’t take a dose from this ? 

Leslie. A tablespoonful. 

Blank, {greatly excited ) By Heaven ! She’s poisoned. 

Leslie. Poisoned ! (Bessie comes from behind the 
screen.) 

Blank, {agitated ) I did not intend to do her any harm. 
It was only to weaken her. 

Leslie, {to Bessie) Miss Martin, you have heard Dr. 
Blank’s confession. 

Blank. I swear I meant no harm. But it is not too late. 
Her life can be saved. 

Leslie. There is no necessity to worry yourself, Doctor, 
over the state of Mrs. Shepherd’s health. She has not been 
poisoned. 

Blank. Eh ! {A slight pause) Y — you have tricked me 
into a confession ? 

Leslie. It seems so. 

Blank, {passionately) Curse you ! {A pause) Well, now 
that you have enjoyed yourself at my expense — if you will 
unlock the door — 

Leslie. Oh ! don’t be in a hurry. It’s true, your schemes 
have been discovered, but that does not make you innocent. 
But my duty ends — your fate is now in the hands of Miss 
Martin. {A patise.) 

Bessie. Dr. Blank, I did not know, when you asked me 
to be your wife — 

Leslie, {aside) The villain ! 

Bessie, {continuing) I did not know the character of the 
man whom I thought was honoring me. Had I known, I 
would not have listened to you a moment. Although — as 
I told you — I could never care for you, I respected you ; I 


PRO TEM 


39 


thought you an honorable man. I believe my Aunt trusted 
you more than she trusted any one else in this world, 
and knowing that this was so, you took advantage of her 
confidence. You have greatly wronged both of us and yet 
— I cannot believe that you are wholly bad. We are all 
weak. Perhaps you were sorely tempted in what might be 
no temptation to me. It is not for me to judge you ; that 
right belongs to Heaven. 

Bessie, (to Leslie) Mr. Leslie, will you please unlock the 
doors ? 

Leslie. Unlock them ! 

Bessie. Yes. (Leslie hesitates ; then unlocks both doors.) 
There Doctor — you are free. 

Blank. Free ! 

Bessie. Yes, to go where you please. But I beg of you, 
go with the determination to lead an upright life ; to be a 
true man. A physician has so many opportunities to do 
good ; he, of all others, should fight against the wrong. (A 
pause .) 

Blank, (earnestly) Miss Martin, I — I did not realize 
before what an injury I had done you. Can you — can you 
forgive me ? 

Bessie. I will try. (Holds out her handl) 

Leslie, (stepping between them) No — Miss Martin. 

Bessie. Yes, I will give him my hand. I wish my 
actions to prove that I mean my words. (She extends her 
hand againl) 

Blank, (after hesitating) No ; Leslie is right. I cannot 
take your hand. I do not deserve it. But I believe that 
you will forgive me. Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to 
prove to you that your forgiveness has made a true man 
of me ; at least, I will try. 

Exit Blank, d. f. 

Leslie. Miss Martin, you are an angel ! 

Bessie. Oh ! no — only a very, very poor imitation. (Sits 
l. of table down R. c. Leslie approaches table , r.; sees the 
ball of worsted on the floor — picks it up — discovers the paper 
under it and reads it. Bessie sees the paper on the fancy 
work — carelessly takes it up and reads it. They look at each 
other — then quickly look away , embarrassed .) 

Leslie, (reading from paper , aside) “ Mrs. Henry Leslie.” 
(Looks at Bessie — hesitates a moment ; then winds the ball 
slowly.) Miss Martin — (stops winding .) 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie. There is something I — I wish to say to you and 


6o 


PRO TEM 


yet, scarcely know the best way. I am not sure how you 
will receive it. (A slight pause.) I — I want to — to thank 
you for all your kindness toward me — 

* Bessie. You have nothing to thank me for, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Oh ! yes, I have ; much, very much. ( Winds 
ball.) Ever since I first met you, I have felt that life was 
something more than what I had been accustomed to think 
it. You have given me the desire to try to make myself 
of some use in the world. {Stops winding .) 

Bessie. You can succeed if you will have the deter- 
mination, Mr. Leslie. “ No consistent effort is ever lost. 
And in doing the best you can with yourself, you make the 
world better.” 

Leslie, (aside) I wish I knew if she cares for me. (To 
Bessie) Miss Martin, I want your advice. 

Bessie. I shall be glad to give it. 

Leslie. Suppose you — you were in love. 

Bessie. I, in love ! 

Leslie, (quickly) Oh ! it was only a supposition, you 
know. I — I mean, suppose you were a man and you 
loved a girl — and wished to know if she cared for you — 
what would you do ? 

Bessie. I — I think I would ask her. 

Leslie. Yes ; but if she didn’t care for you ? 

Bessie. How are you going to tell unless you ask her ? 

Leslie. That’s just what I want to know. 

Bessie. I don’t know of any other way. She, in turn, 
might wonder if the man cared for her. 

Leslie, (quickly) Oh ! there’s no doubt of my love for 
her — I — I mean your love for her. 

Bessie. How is she to know that? 

Leslie. My actions — that is, your actions prove that. 

Bessie, (rising) Mr. Leslie, I — 

Leslie. I — I mean your actions toward the girl. You 
are representing a man, you know. 

Bessie, (sitting) (half aside) I forgot. (A slight pause.) 
But suppose the girl wished some stronger proof than 
actions ? 

Leslie. What would you advise ? 

Bessie. I — I hardly know. Perhaps you — I mean the 
man, ought to tell her. 

Leslie. But if she already knows of his love ? 

Bessie. But she might value a repetition. 

Leslie, (aside) By Jove! I’ll do it. (Winds ball hastily) 
(To Bessie) Miss Martin, I’ll take your advice. Yesterday, 
you witnessed a scene that was embarrassing to me in the 


PRO TEM 


6l 


extreme. You saw me in the arms of your Aunt, Miss 
Shepherd — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) I think I understand the mistake, 
Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. And you do not blame me ? 

Bessie. Not at all. 

Leslie. Thank you. I assure you that I am innocent 
of any tender feelings — in your Aunt’s direction. She came 
in the room and overheard me speaking of — of some one 
else. 

Bessie. Some one else ! 

Leslie. Yes, of — some one else. ( Winding .) Someone 
' — between whom and me there is a strong cord, binding 
me to her. Unconsciously she has wound around me the 
spell of her fascination. ( Advancing ) And as she winds she 
draws me nearer and nearer, until I am at her side. (Places 
the ball on the table and goes behind Bessie’s chair.) (Earn- 
estly) Miss Martin, you know who that “ some one ” is. 
You know that I love her with all my heart. (Leaning over 
her chair and taking her hand) Does she love me ? 

Bessie. And if she loves you ? 

Leslie. Then I want her to prove it by giving what I 
wish for most in this world — herself. Will she ? 

(Bessie makes a sign of acceptance. They embrace .) 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd, (seeing them) (aside) Ah ! I am going to have 
my trap patented. ( To Leslie and Bessie) Bless you, my 
children ! (Leslie and Bessie start) 

Leslie, (embarrassed) Oh! is that you ? You see — 

Shepherd Yes, I see. No explanations are necessary. 
You both have my deepest sympathy. 

Enter Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

Lena. Can we come in now ? 

Shephf-rd. Certainly. Why shouldn’t you ? 

Lena. Mr. Leslie was having a consultation with the 
Doctor. 

Oscar. Which was the sick one, Leslie, you or the 
Doctor ? You seemed to be uncertain. 

Leslie. Dr. Blank feels very badly at present, I think. 

Enter Rachel and Mrs. S., r. d. 

Rachel. Mr. Leslie, I had intended dismissing you from 
my employ, but — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) I will save you the trouble, Miss 


62 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd. I hereby tender my resignation as your secre» 
tary, having entered into an engagement which will employ 
me for the balance of my life. 

Shepherd. Going to be a family secretary, eh ? 

Leslie, (turnmg toward Bessie) Yes, no longer Pro 
Tern, but in the employ of my wife forever. 


CURTAIN 


Rachel and Mrs. S. 


Oscar and Lena. 


Shepherd. 


Leslie and Bessie. 




For Her Sake 


A Play in One Act 






















































m 















For Her Sake 

CHARACTERS 

Jim Parsons, A Poor Man 

Mary Parsons, His Wife 

Mr. Page, Proprietor of a Large Manufactory 

Officer. 

Costumes in Accordance with Characters 
Time in Representation, Twenty Minutes 


3 



FOR HER SAKE 


SCENE. — A living-room , poorly furnished. Door r. in 
flat ; window l. in flat. Door down L. Table middle c., 
stove R. Mary is discovered , sitting by the stove r. There 
is the sound of wind whistling around the house and the 
windows rattle noisily. Mary sits with her hands crossed 
upon her knees , staring dejectedly at the floor. After a 
pause , she starts up a?id turns toward tlie door expectantly. 

Mary. Is that you, Jim ? ( She waits a moment for a re- 

ply , but receiving none , rises and opening the door r. m flat , 
looks out. Then , with a sigh , she returns to her chair beside 
the stove. Suddenly she raises her arm as though shielding 
herself from some peril. Desperately .) Starve ! No, no ; I 
cannot. Oh, why doesn’t he come ? {Rises again , goes to 
the window , and peers out into the darkness. Comes down. 
Tenderly .) Poor Jim ! He has tried so hard to find work, 
and now — ( looks about the room and shudders) — now there 
is nothing left. Nothing. We have eaten our last morsel 
of food; we have burned our last coal. To-morrow — Oh, 
I cannot bear to think of it. (She bursts into tears and 
flings herself upon her knees by the table. There is a 
moment's pause ; then the door r. in flat is dashed open , and 
enter Jim Parsons. His arms are filled with packages .) 

Jim. (calling) Mary! (Glances about) Mary! 

Mary, (arising hastily and wiping her eyes) Yes, Jim. 
Jim. Oh, there you are. It’s so dark I couldn’t see you. 
Shut the door, won’t you, and — and lock it. Quick. 

Mary, (joyfully) You have brought something ? 

Jim. Yes. Everything. I said I would, didn’t I ? Come ; 
let’s have a light and I’ll show you. 

Mary. I’m so glad; so thankful. I couldn’t have stood 
it much longer, Jim. (57/«? lights the candle .) 

Jim. (looking at her) Why, what’s wrong ? You’ve 
been crying. 

Mary. I — I couldn’t help it, Jim. I’ve been thinking. 
Jim. Thinking? You shouldn’t. (Thoughtfully sits by 
the table c.) If I had stopped to think, perhaps — but no, 
no ; you were hungry and I couldn’t get work. 

Mary, (still holding the candle) But you’ve gotten it at 

5 


6 


FOR HER SAKE 


last, haven’t you ? {Stoops down arid kisses him.) You 
said you would. 

Jim. ( uneasily ) Yes, I — I said I would. (As though to 
appease his conscience .) We have to have money. I 
couldn’t see you starve. (Springing up) What’s that ? 
Who knocks ? 

Mary. It was only the wind. (Places candle upon the 
table) You seem nervous to-night, Jim. Is it because — 

Jim. ( interrupting ) Because I’ve been worrying about 
you. Because I have wondered — but look, here’s food. 
(Trying to laugh) You and I will live like the wealthy — 
for a day or two at least — and then I’ll get steady work. If 
I don’t — (Breaks off abruptly and walks to the window l. in 
flat. Mary stoops over the packages on the table and eagerly 
unties them. After a slight pause, Jim turns and , looking at 
his wife affectionately , takes a step toward her) Mary. 

Mary, (busy about the packages) Yes, Jim. 

Jim. You — you don’t think me a — a bad man, do you ? 

Mary, (glances at him quickly , not understanding. Then 
laughs). Why, what a funny question, Jim! (Lays her 
hand caressingly upon his shoulder) You are the best hus- 
band in the world. 

Jim. Yes, yes; I’ve tried to be good to you. But — but 
I — you have never known me to do anything wicked, have 
you ? 

Mary. Wicked? (Laughing) How funny you are, 
Jim ! Of course not. 

Jim. (persisting) But suppose I should do something 
wrong ? 

Mary. You couldn’t. 

Jim. Oh, yes, I could. (Puts his arm around her) Sup- 
pose — suppose I did something I shouldn’t ? Suppose I saw 
you starving and knew that unless I got money — (A knock 
is heard at the door) What’s that ? 

Mary. Some one knocked. 

Jim. ( nervously ) No, no ; it must have been the wind — 
only the wind. There it is again. 

Mary. It’s some one knocking, Jim. I’m sure of it. 
(Starts toward the door) 

Jim. I mustn’t see any one. I won’t. Stop! Don’t 
open the door. 

Mary. But, Jim — 

Jim. Then tell them I’m sick, or not at home — anything 
but don’t let them in. (Going l.) I won’t see them. 
(Flings open the door , l.) 

(Exit Jim, door l.) 


FOR HER SAKE 


7 


(Mary stands a moment bewildered. The knockmg is re- 
peated. She hastens to the door r. in flat and cautiously 

opens it) 

Officer. ( without ) Ah ! he’s after doin’ it at last. 

{Enter Officer, pushing Mary aside , followed by Mr. 

Page.) 

Mary, {retreating) What is it you want ? 

Officer. The usual thing, sure. 

Mr. Page. Does a man by the name of Parsons live 
here ? 

Mary. Yes, sir ; he is my husband. 

Officer. In course he lives here. An’ he’s the man 
we’re after, too. You kin bet on thot, yer honor. 

Mary, {apprehensively) What’s the matter ? 

Mr. Page. Your husband was seen to steal a purse from 
me this afternoon, and — 

Mary, {interrupting passionately) It’s not true ! Jim 
never stole a cent in his life. 

Officer, {chucklmg) Sure, thin, it’s a bad beginnin’. 
It’s not true, eh ? She ought to be run in fer sich insinia- 
tin’ lang’age. Jist look at thot table, yer honor. Tea an’ 
bread an’ pertaters an’ — an’ everything. Faith, there’s 
enough to start a boardin’ house. Yer husband’s a thief, 
thot’s what, an’ yer knows it. You’ve got him hidin’ ’round 
here some place ; in thot there room, I should’n’ wonder. 
{Steps toward the door l. as though to open it.) 

Mary, {springs before him , angrily) Stop ! You must 
not — you shall not go in there. Stop, I say ! {Pushes him 
back with all her strength. The Officer lays hold of her 
roughly and tries to put her aside , but she struggles desper- 
ately) No, no ; you can’t. You shall not. {Suddenly the 
door l. is thrown ope?i and Jim springs into the room) 

Jim. Take your hands off! {Seizing the Officer he flings 
him from him) How dare you touch her ? (Mr. Page re- 
treats a few steps as though frightened) Oh ! you needn’t 
be afraid, Mr. Page. {Sneering) I won’t hurt you, though 
heaven knows I’ve little enough reason for liking you. And 
there’s many another who’ll never forget the day you 
closed the works. 

Mr. Page. My good fellow, I do not remember whether 
you have been in my employ or no, but — 

Jim. {interrupting) Of course not. Of course not. Why 
should you remember it ? Your comfort doesn’t depend 
upon me. What do you care who works for you so your 


8 


FOR HER SAKE 


wealth increases ? What do you care whether I live or 
die ? 

Mr. Page. Oh ! now, my man, you know — 

Jim. ( interrupting ) I know that I came to this town to 
get work with you ; some of your men had left because of 
a reduction in wages. But I was not particular. Anything 
was better than starving. I know that I slaved in your 
factories for two years, making scarcely enough to feed and 
clothe my wife and baby, and then you ordered another 
cut — ordered it, though many of the men were behind in 
their rent and unable to provide for winter. What could 
we do but consent ? But you were not content with that — 
oh, no ! Your wealth was not increasing, so you closed 
the works. “ Hard times,” you said — and you a million- 
aire ! What would be the gain of thousands to you com- 
pared with the few dollars your men lost ? Hard times — 
yes, for us, and all through you. 

Officer. Don’t be unrespectful. You stole a purse 
with tin dollars in it from his honor’s pocket, an’ — 

Jim. ( interrupting angrily ) It’s a lie! I found it on the 
street. I didn’t know it was his — not till I saw his card 
inside. 

Mr. Page. You should have returned it. It is not the 
money I care about, but as an active member of the Law 
and Order Society it is my duty to see that crime is sup- 
pressed and the law obeyed. 

(Mary sinks upon a chair by the table , c., and covers her 
face with her hands) 

Jim. {sneerbigly) The law! {Laughs bitterly) Hunger 
knows no law. Cold knows no law. Tell me, either of 
you, have you ever had a child? A child you loved? 
Have you seen it sicken and grow pale and paler? Have 
you felt its little weak arms around your neck, and, as you 
held it fast, known that it was slipping away — slipping away 
for want of proper food and attention ? And then have you 
watched it die ? (Mary sobs. He bends over her a moment 
tenderly ; then his expression becomes hard and he turns to 
Mr. Page fiercely) Tell me — has your wife suffered like 
mine? Have you walked the streets from morning till 
night looking for work and then gone home without a cent 
to buy bread for the woman you loved ? 

(Mr. Page turns away irresolutely) 

Officer, {trying to show that he is not moved) Come, 
come. {Clears his throat) You’ve talked too much. Sure, 


FOR HER SAKE 


9 


it’s the same auld story. His honor ain’t got no time to 
waste. We are goin’ now an’ you must jine us — there’s an 
end on it. 

(Jim gazes at the Officer a moment ; glances at Mr. Page ; 
then looks at Mary, who sits with bowed head , weeping. 
With an air of determination he slips his right hand into 
the pocket of his coat as though to grasp a weapo7i) 

Jim. If I let you take me — 

Officer, {interrupting — sarcastically) If you lets us ? 
Ha, ha, ha ! that’s good, that is ; ha, ha ! 

Jim. {sternly) If I let you — that’s. what I said. If I let 
you take me, what is to become of my wife ? 

Officer. Oh, she’ll learn to git along wi’out you, fast 
enough. 

Jim. ( musingly ) She would have to work. Perhaps 
she would be compelled to beg — perhaps she would starve. 
{His hand tightens upon a revolver in his pocket) 

Officer. Sure, she must run her chances. 

Jim. ( passionately ) Never, while I live. {Draws forth 
the revolver a?id grasps it resolutely. Mockingly) Take 
me ! (Officer and Mr. Page retreat toward the door , r., 
in flat) Oh, don’t be frightened. Take me! Ha, ha, ha! 
You seem to be afraid. Why don’t you arrest me ? Mary 
and I have loved one another too long. We should be 
separated. Come and take me ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

(Mary slowly raises her head and dries her eyes. She 
sees the revolver in Jim’s hand, and springing up with a 
low cry , clutches his arm) 

Mary. Jim ! Jim ! What are you going to do ? 

Jim. Nothing ; unless they try to part us. 

Mary. No, no ; you mustn’t. ( Tries to wrench the 
weapon from him) Don’t use it, Jim. For my sake don’t. 
Let me have it. 

Jim. I cannot. 

Mary, {entreatingly) For my sake. Because I love you, 
Jim ; because you love me. Don’t do anything to make 
me sorry — for my sake. 

{He looks down at her tenderly a moment ; stoops , and brush- 
ing back her hair . , kisses her upon the forehead ; then 
allows her to take the revolver , and sighing deeply sinks 
upon the chair by the table. She drops upon her knees 
beside him and clasps him in her arms. Mr. Page moves 
uneasily and coughs) 

Mary, {looks up at him quickly) Don’t you understand ? 


10 


FOR HER SAKE 


Can’t you see how he loves me ? He took the money 
because I was hungry and cold. He would kill you both 
rather than leave me to starve. It was not of himself that 
he thought, but of me. Me! It is all my fault. Take me 
if you will, but not him — no, no — not him. ( Sobs hysteri- 
cally upon her husband's breast. Officer mutters some- 
thing ; bites his lip , and turns to Mr. Page as though await- 
ing instructions. Mr. Page stands by the door r. in flat , 
nervously buttoning and unbuttoning his coat. Hesitates } 
and then removes his hat.) 

Officer. Shall I take him, sir ? 

Mr. Page. No — no. A man that loves such a woman 
can’t go very far wrong. Come. ( They tiptoe toward door . 
Exit noiselessly .) 


Curtain 


A Bachelor’s Divorce 


A Comedy in Three Acts 


A BACHELOR’S DIVORCE 


CHARACTERS. 

Samuel Singleton, a wealthy bachelor. 
Ned Singleton, his nephew. 

“Dr” Neville Busby, a prodigal son . 
Rolinda Bruton, a histrionic artist. 
Mrs. Decauter Busby, Neville's mother , 
Nell Busby, her daughter. 

Deb, a lisping lass. 


SCENE. 

Acts I. and III. — The sitting-room in Mrs. Busby’s house. Act II 
—The dining-room in Mrs. Busby’s house. 

Act I.— Morning. Acts II. and III.— Afternoon. 



Copyright, 1895, BY Walter ri. Baker <fc Co. 


a bachelor's divorce. 


3 


STAGE SETTINGS. 


(Acts I. and III.) 



(Act II.) 



R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 


The player is supposed to face the audience. 

R. means right ; L. means left ; c., centre ; r. c., right centre ; L. c., 
left of centre ; D. F., door in flat running across back of stage ; r. f., 
right side of flat; L. F., left side of flat; r. d., right door; l. d., left 
door; L. d. way, left doorway. 


4 


A bachelor's divorce. 


THE ARGUMENT. 

Mrs. Busby is an estimable, though ambitious widow. Ambitious for 
her son Neville , whom she wishes to become a physician, and also ambi- 
tious that her daughter Nell should marry wealth and position. 

Neville has gone to New York to study medicine, and to help defray 
the expenses of a college career Mrs. Busby has taken a boarder, — Mr. 
Satnuel Singleton , a wealthy bachelor, — with no near relatives save Ned 
Singleton , his nephew and heir. In this wealthy bachelor Mrs. Busby 
sees, or thinks she sees, a future son-in-law. 

The action of the play takes place upon Singleton’s forty-third birth- 
day, a day long looked for by Mrs. Busby, for Neville, the pride of her 
heart, is to return home that afternoon. 

The morning’s mail brings a letter for Singleton, and he is greatly 
shocked to find it is from an actress, Rolinda Bruton , of whom he had 
never heard. In this letter she refers to “a little lunch ” Singleton — as 
she thinks — had promised her. Singleton cannot imagine what it means. 
Suddenly the idea occurs to him that the letter must be intended for his 
nephew, and of course he imagines Ned has been carrying on a flirtation 
with this actress. While he is pondering over this subject, Rolinda 
comes to pay him a visit. She knew her admirer only through the 
many tender notes she had received from him ; and Singleton, thinking 
to protect his nephew from the actress’s wiles, determines to take his 
place. 

Ned calls; Rolinda is hidden in the library. Singleton upbraids his 
nephew for making love to a woman so beneath him in the social 
scale. 

Ned, who is deeply in love with Nell Busby, thinks his uncle is refer- 
ring to her, and manfully upholds the object of his affection. Singleton 
then threatens to disinherit him. Ned has a conversation with Nell, but 
is afraid to tell her what his uncle has said. Mrs. Busby informs her 
daughter that she is fully persuaded that Singleton loves her, and urges 
her to accept his proposal of marriage, which she is sure will follow. 

Singleton has had great difficulty in concealing Rolinda, and finally 
entreats her to leave. But she is enjoying herself at his expense, and 
refuses. 

She says that if he were married, then she might go ; and Singleton, 
thinking this his one chance of freedom, tells her he is married to Nell 
Busby. She does not believe him, and demands proof. Singleton, 
hearing some one coming, begs Rolinda to withdraw to the library. She 
says she is “ tired of playing hide-and-seek,” but consents to do so 
on one condition — that he will give her the lunch he promised. He 
consents. Nell enters ; and Singleton, driven to desperation, proposes. 
Mrs. Busby insists that she accept him, and as Singleton embraces her 
Ned and Rolinda enter. Ned is naturally astonished. Rolinda, in re- 
ply to Mrs. Busby’s question, says that she is Singleton’s cousin from 
New York. 

Act II. deals chiefly with the lunch which Singleton “ enjoys ” with 
Rolinda, while the others are at the station to meet Neville Busby, who 
is expected home after an absence of six months. After the lunch, 
Rolinda still insists upon remaining; and Singleton, thinking that he 
has endured enough for his nephew’s sake, tells Rolinda that Ned is her 
real admirer. Ned enters; Rolinda embraces him, and a misunder- 
standing is created between the lovers by Nell’s untimely entrance; for, 
although Ned pleads his innocence, Nell refuses to believe him. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


5 


Neville, having missed his mother at the station, returns and meets 
Rolinda, to whom he confesses his love, and says that before he left 
home, six months previous, he had asked her to lunch with him. He 
assures her that he has great expectations, and Rolinda turns her very 
pliable affections in his direction. 

Mrs. Busby returns, and in Act III. commands Rolinda to leave the 
house, but the latter refuses and locks herself in the library. Neville 
acknowledges to his mother his love for the actress, and tells her that 
Singleton is married. He has learned this from Rolinda, but thought 
she referred to Ned Singleton. Mrs. Busby thinks Neville means Ned’s 
uncle, and is greatly shocked that her daughter should be “ engaged to 
a bigamist.” Ned and Nell have become reconciled, but Neville causes 
more trouble by telling Nell that Ned has a wife already. 

Ned is furious, and challenges him to a duel. Explanations follow 
between Ned and his uncle, Singleton being assured that his nephew 
loves Nell Busby, and not the actress. Then Neville learns of his mis- 
take and apologizes to Ned, being only too glad to escape a duel. Ro- 
linda, having been told by Singleton that Neville is entirely without 
“expectations,” loses her interest in him, and leaves, despite Neville’s 
pleadings to remain. 

After various explanations, all learn that they have been more or less 
deceived. Mrs. Busby and Singleton consent to the marriage of Ned 
and Nell; Neville decides to return to his studies and take an extra 
course in “ treating,” and Singleton thinks that to share his griefs and 
joys with Mrs. Busby would be far better than living a bachelor’s life. 


PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Photograph, overcoat and umbrella on table down L. c. 
Three letters and basket of clothes for'Mrs. Busby. Wig for Singleton. 
Bottle for Nell. 

Act II. — Purse and parasol for Nell. Tray, carafes of wine and 
glasses for Deb. Valise for Neville. 

Act III. — Basin for Nell. Tray, carafes and glasses for Deb. 


COSTUMES. 

Modem and appropriate. 



A BACHELOR’S DIVORCE. 


ACT L 

Scene. — The sitting-room at Mrs. Busby’s. 

Enter Mrs. Busby, l. d., letters in her hand. 

Mrs. B. ( reading addresses of letters'). “ Mr. Samuel Single- 
ton,” — Mr. Singleton ; rather dashing handwriting that. A 
woman’s too. “ Mr. S. Singleton,” — looks like a bill. ( Puts 
letters on table down L. C.) No letter from Neville, the dear 
boy ! but that is because he expects to come home to-day ; (En- 
ter Deb, R. d.) he said Tuesday, the twenty-second. Deb ! 

[Sy/j R. of table down L. c. 

Deb. Yeth, mum. 

Mrs. B. Is to-day Monday or Tuesday ? 

Deb. Yeth, mum. I think it ith. 

Mrs. B. That’s what I thought. What is the date ? 

Deb. Ye-yeth, mum. 

Mrs. B. The twenty-second ? I thought so. The dear* way- 
ward child ! Coming home to his loving mother, after six 
months’ absence, a full-fledged physician ! “ Dr. Neville 

Busby ! ” How beautiful that sounds ! (To Deb.) We will 
have a. reunion at dinner to-day, Deb. 

Deb. How do yeth want ’em cooked, mum ? 

Mrs. B. Cooked S 

Deb. Yeth, mum — the onionth. 

Mrs. B. (angrily). What do you mean ? Haven’t I often 
told you I detest the sight of onions ? 

Deb. Yeth, mum, but 

Mrs. B. (rising). Leave the room ! (Exit Deb, d. f.) That 
girl would worry a saint. (Singleton heard singing, without.) 
There’s Mr. Singleton ! He has been as happy as a bird for 

6 



a bachelor’s divorce. 


7 


the last day or two. ( Thoughtfully .) I wonder if — {stops ; 
takes up letters , selects one) “ Mr. Singleton ” — but no ! The 
idea of a bachelor of his age getting married ! Why, he must be 
nearly fifty. What’s the postmark ? [Looks closely at letter. 

Enter Singleton, l. d. 

Singleton. Morning, Mrs. Busby ! (Mrs. B. starts.) Let- 
ters ? None for me, I suppose ? 

Mrs. B. Three, sir. 

Singleton. Three, eh ! Unlucky number, Mrs. Busby ; never 
knew it to fail ; the third is always some outlandishly large bill. 
( Taking letters and looking at addresses carelessly.) Yes, just 
as I thought, — all bills. {Puts them in pocket.) Well, Mrs. 
Busby, I’m waiting. 

Mrs. B. Waiting! For what, sir? 

Singleton. Your congratulations. 

Mrs. B. You’re not engaged to be married, sir ? 

Singleton. Engaged ! Oh, no. {Laughs.) Ha-ha-ha ; the 
idea ! This is my birthday ; nothing more serious, I assure you. 

Mrs. B. Your birthday ! Well, I do congratulate you. And 
— a — might I ask, which one ? 

Singleton. Guess. 

Mrs. B. You can’t be more than thirty-five, sir. 

Singleton. Thirty-five ! {Laughs.) Ha-ha-ha ; thirty-five ! 
I’m forty-three to-day. 

Mrs. B. Impossible ! 

Singleton. Fact. Don’t look it, do I ? 

Mrs. B. Indeed, you don’t. But I’m glad it’s only your birth* 
day, sir ; I thought you were going to get married and then you 
would leave us. We can’t afford to lose such a pleasant boarder, 
sir ! . 

Singleton. What ! Leave such a boarding place as this ? 
Leave my only home ? {Affectionately .) Leave you, Mrs. 
Busby ? 

Mrs. B. {sitting's., of table down L. c., coyly). Go on. 

Singleton. Never ! 

Mrs. B. Eh ? 

Singleton. I — I mean I shall never leave. 

Mrs. B. Ah ! 

Singleton. That is, not while you have tomato soup twice a 
week. 

Mrs. B . {turning away provoked). Oh ! {After slight 
pause.) But there’s no reason why you should not marry, sir. 
A gentleman with the face, the figure, and the — a — and the 
fortune you have, would make any woman happy. 

Singleton {pleased ). Think so ? I’m not too old ? 


8 


a bachelor's divorce. 


Mrs. B. Not at all, sir ! A very good age. 

Singleton. I’m glad to hear you say so. The fact is, Mrs. 
Busby, my age has worried me considerably of late. Gray 
hairs are coming, except on the crown of my head. There, I’m 
getting bald — entirely too bald — and — a — can I trust you with 
a secret ? 

Mrs. B. Certainly, sir. 

Singleton. I bought a wig yesterday. 

Mrs. B. Oh, sir ! 

Singleton. Fact. But it doesn’t fit, and I 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). You don’t need a wig, sir. 

Singleton. Think not ? I don’t want one, I’m sure — but — 
a — you’re sure I don’t need one ? 

Mrs. B. Of course not ( hesitating ), but — a — what you do need 
is a — a — companion ; some one to share your trials. You should 
choose some good sensible woman from among your acquaint- 
ances, sir. 

Singleton ( sitting l. of table down L. c.). I don’t know of 
any. 

Mrs. B. ( indignantly ). Sir ! 

Singleton. I — I mean marriageable ones, of course. 

Mrs. B. (aside). I can’t tell him all women are marriageable. 

Singleton (aside). I wouldn’t mind marrying a woman like 
that. 

Mrs. B. (rising). Well, think it over, sir, and — a — a — -then 
tell me your decision. (Aside.) Perhaps I can persuade him to 
marry Helen. (To Singleton.) Your nephew was here, sir. 

Singleton. Ned ! No — was he ? 

Mrs. B. Yes ; but you hadn’t come out of your room, so he 
said he would just go on a little errand and return in a few 
minutes. (Motioning towards table down L. C.) He left his 
coat and umbrella. A very fine young man, Mr. Ned is. 

Singleton. Very, Mrs. Busby, and an exceedingly attentive 
nephew. 

Mrs. B. No doubt of it, sir. I must attend to my house- 
keeping now ; my dear boy, Dr. Neville, comes home this after- 
noon, you know. [Goes up stage. 

Singleton. Ah, yes, so he does. (Exit Mrs. B., d. f.) I’ve 
never seen her dear boy, but she seems to think him a jewel. 
A rather flashy one, I understand. Somewhat inclined to be 
wayward and to sow wild oats. A curious notion of Mrs. 
Busby’s to send her son away, instead of keeping him at home, 
where he could receive her care and — a — a — that delicious tomato 
soup. But Mrs. Busby always had her heart set upon his be- 
coming a physician. She seems to consider him one, although 
he’s been studying only six months. (Draws letters fro7n 
pocket.) Yes — Bunting’s bill, — a large one, I’ll wager. What’s 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


9 


this ? {Reads.) “ Mr. Singleton.” My, what a dashing hand ! 
Looks like a lady’s, only too bold. Now, who in the deuce is 
writing to me ? {Opens letter and reads.) “ My dear old 
chappie.” Eh! How’s that? “Dear old chappie!” {Turns 
letter over and examines signature.) “Your loving Roly.” 
{Thoughtfully.) Roly — never heard of him. {Picks up envelope 
and reads address.) It certainly belongs to me. {Reads letter.) 
“ My dear old chappie, — Cruel fate, in the shape of my theatrical 
engagements, has kept me silent so long, but now I am free, and 
having once again returned to your city, will gladly accept your 
invitation to the little lunch. I will be at home on the 21st, the 
same address, and will hope to see you, when we can fix the 
date. Your loving Roly.” Great Scott ! {Rising.) There 
must be some mistake ! A supper with an actress ! Terrible ! 
It’s a case of blackmail ! Libel ! The 21st, she said ; that was 
yesterday ; the letter must have gone wrong in the mail. I wish 
it had stayed wrong. {Looks at envelope .) Right address 
though. {Crossing to R. of stage.) What can it mean ? {Laugh- 
ing.) Ha-ha-ha, it’s a joke ; ha-ha-ha! {Tears letter into 
pieces.) A deuced poor one in my opinion. I wonder who sent 
it. {Thoughtfully .) It couldn’t have been Mrs. Busby — no, she 
wouldn’t have done it. Oh, I know, yes, it was Ned ; he was 
playing me a joke on my birthday. {Struck with a sudden 
idea.) Great Scott ! Ned Singleton ! The letter must be for 
him. But no ; my nephew would never have flirted with an 
actress — never ! And yet that letter is directed to “ Mr. Single- 
ton.” (Enter Deb, d. f.) It isn’t for me. 

Deb. Theth a lady to thee you, thir. 

Singleton. A lady ! What’s her name ? 

Deb. The didn’t have no name. 

Singleton. Where is she ? 

Deb. I don’t know, thir ; I left her in the hall. 

Singleton. The hall ! Outrageous ! 

Deb. No, thir, the wath a nithe lookin’ lady. 

Singleton. Show her up here, immediately. 

Deb. Yeth, thir. [Exit Deb, d. f. 

Singleton. A lady to see me ! Who can she be ? Collect- 
ing money for some charity, I suppose. It will never do to re- 
ceive her in this coat. My dignity must be maintained. 

[Exit Singleton, l. d. 

Deb. {without). Mithter Thingleton tnaid to pleathe thtep in 
here, mum. 


Enter Rolinda Bruton, d. f. 

Eolinda {looks around ; then calls). I say, girl ! 
Deb {without). Yeth, mum. 


IO 


A bachelor’s divorce. 


Enter Deb, d. f. 

Rolinda. Didn’t you tell me Mr. Singleton was in here ? 

Deb. Yeth, mum. 

Rolinda. Well, he isn’t. 

Deb. He mutht have went out, mum. 

Rolinda. That’s evident. 

Deb. He thaid to thow you here, mum, tho I’m thure he will 
be back thoon. 

Rolinda. Very well, I will wait. Say! (Deb goes up 
stage, C.) 

Deb. Say what, mum ? 

Rolinda. Don’t get impertinent. About how old a man is 
Mr. Singleton ? 

Deb. Oh, ath old ath the hillth, mum. 

Rolinda. Old as the hills ! {Half aside.} I’m sorry for that ; 
I don’t care for mountain scenery. 

Deb. That’th hith picter on the table, mum. 

Rolinda. Oh, it is ! Well, you may go now. 

Deb. Yeth, mum. [Exit Deb, d. f. 

Rolinda ( takes uf photograph from table down L. c.). Not 
a bad looking man ; quite a pleasant face. Looks like the kind 
of man to be a little — a — injudicious. 

Enter Singleton, l. d. 

Rolinda {walks around him and looks at him closely ). Why, 
you’re not old. 

Singleton. I — I beg pardon ? 

Rolinda. This is Mr. Singleton, is it not ? 

Singleton. That is my name. 

Rolinda. You look exactly like your picture. 

Singleton. My picture ! 

Rolinda {laughs merrily ). Oh, don’t be frightened. I haven’t 
it. I asked you for one, you remember, but you were such a sly 
old dog, weren’t you ? 

Singleton. Madam, I do not understand you. {Aside.) This 
woman must be crazy. 

Rolinda. Don’t understand ! Oh yes, you do. {Sits on sofa , 
down R., and takes off hat and gloves .) You didn’t give me 
your name or address either, did you ? But you sent me flowers. 

Singleton. You are certainly mistaken. 

Rolinda. Now, don’t deny it ! You know you did ; and I 
went to the florist’s where you bought them, and altho’ they didn’t 
know your name, they knew your address. It was easy enough 
to learn your name ; and since the servant told me that there 
was only one gentleman living here, — the honor is all yours. 

Singleton. My dear madam 


a bachelor's divorce. 


I 


Rolinda. That sounds much more hospitable. 

Singleton. This is evidently a case of mistaken identity ; I 
have bought no flowers for months. 

Rolinda. No, not for six months. 

Singleton. Fully that. 

E-olinda. Now, there is no use in your pretending you’ve for- 
gotten me, for you haven’t, you know. 

Singleton. I have, I assure you. - 

Rolinda. I never saw you before, but I have stacks of letters 
from you. Did you get mine ? 

Singleton. Your what ? 

Rolinda. Bravo ! You would make a capital actor. You 
should go on the stage. ( With deter mination.) Look here, my 
dear sir : you needn’t think you can trifle with Roly Bruton. 

Singleton {starting). Roly ! 

Rolinda. Yes, Roly! You begin to remember me, don’t 
you ? You forget that one looks differently on and off the stage. 

Singleton {aside). Good heavens ! the actress ! 

Rolinda. Why didn’t you call yesterday ? 

Singleton. Your letter was not intended for me. 

Rolinda. Then why did you read it ? You did read it, you 
know you did. 

Singleton (aside). She has come here after Ned ; I must pre- 
vent a meeting in some way. (To Rolinda.) You say you 
never saw me before ! 

Rolinda. What better proof do you want than the fact that 
I never called before ? 

Singleton (aside). Perhaps Ned has already seen her. (To 
Rolinda.) You didn’t meet any one when you came in, did 
you ? 

Rolinda. No one but the maid. (Aside.) He is beginning 
to realize that he is in for it. 

Singleton (crossing to l. of stage ; aside). She thinks I am 
Ned. By Jove ! How would it do to keep up the deception ? 
— it’s the only way to save my nephew. 

Rolinda. Well, old chappie, you know me now, don’t you ? 

Singleton. Yes, I know you now — a — a — Roly. 

Rolinda. I knew it would be only a question of time. And 
do you love me as much as you did six months ago ? 

Singleton. I — love you ! Oh, yes, just as much. 

Rolinda. You hide your feelings wonderfully well. 

Singleton. Do I ? Well, that’s because I board. 

[ Sitting r. of table down L. C. 

Rolinda. Do you know, I am beginning to like you ? 

[ Rises from sofa, down R., and approaches Singleton, l. c. 

Singleton (rises). Are you ? ( Going to L. of table.) It’s 

awfully sweet of you. (Aside.) I’m deuced sorry for it. 


12 


A bachelor’s DIVORCE. 


Rolinda. I knew from your letters that you must be a jolly, 
nice sort of a chap ; just a little inclined to be fast. 

R. of table down L. C. 

Singleton. Oh no, I’m not inclined to 

Rolinda ( interrupting ). Well, you never declined to — at least 
not with me. 

Singleton (aside). What a very bad character Ned is giving 
me ! [A pause. 

Rolinda. Wake up, old man ; get some life into you ; you 
are glad to see me, aren’t you ? 

Singleton. Ye-es, delighted, but — a — suppose some one else 
should see you here ; how could I explain matters ? 

Rolinda. Oh, I leave that to your ingenuity ; you can hide 
me somewhere. 

Singleton (rising). Hide you ! But my reputation ! 

Rolinda. Oh, you are like most men. (Rising j dramatically.) 
Before the world your reputation is clothed in fine raiment and 
fed upon the praises of men ; but to yourself, — it is starved. 
That’s not original ; I said it to the villain in my last play. You 
should have heard the applause. But come, don’t you be a vil- 
lain ; prove that you are glad to see me. 

Singleton. Prove it ! How ? (Aside.) I can’t prove what 
is not true. 

Rolinda. Oh, you know how ; you asked me, in your letters, 
for one. 

Singleton. One what ? 

Rolinda. A kiss. 

Singleton. A kiss ! 

Rolinda. Yes, didn’t you ever hear of one before ? Oh, no 
doubt it is a great luxury, but — a — (sitting R. of table down L. 
C. ; condescendingly) you may kiss me on my brow. 

Singleton. But — a 

Rolinda (loudly). You must, I say. Kiss me ! 

Singleton. Shew ! Not so loud ; even if I must k-kiss you, 
I don’t want the whole house to know of it. (Aside.) I will 
have to do it. [ Goes up stage and looks out doors. 

Rolinda (angrily). Are you going to kiss me ? 

Singleton. Yes, yes ; I’m coming. Please don’t make such 
a noise. [Approaches chair and is about to kiss Rolinda. 

Deb (without). I’ll be there in a minute, thir. 

[Singleton quickly picks up coat from table and 
throws it over Rolinda’s head. 

Enter Deb, d. f. 

Deb. Did you call, thir ? 

Singleton (agitated). No — no — I didn’t call. 

Deb. I thought ath I heerd a noithe, thir. 


A bachelor's divorce. 


13 


Singleton. Perhaps you did ; go and find out. 

Deb. Yeth, thir. ( Looking around.') I wonder where the 
lady ith. [Exit Deb, r. d. 

Rolinda ( throwing off coat). Are you trying to smother me ? 

Singleton. No, — oh no— only to a — to— a — a — embrace you ! 

Rolinda. You have a very novel way. 

Singleton ( door opens , r.). Good Heavens ! some one else is 
coming. 

[Snatches up the umbrella leaning against table ; opens it 
and puts it over Rolinda’s head , hiding her from view. 

Enter Deb, r. d. 

Deb ( stops and looks at Singleton, who is holding umbrella 
down). Do you want it dried, thir ? 

Singleton. No, it is dry. (Rolinda struggles ; to Rolinda.) 
Please keep still. (To Deb.) I am giving the umbrella air, that’s 
all. 

Rolinda. I wish you would give me air. 

Singleton. Keep quiet, I say. 

Deb. Wath you thpeaking to me, thir ? 

Singleton, Yes, to you. I said keep quiet and leave the 
room. 

Deb. Yeth, thir. (Aside.) He’th as croth as a bear. 

[Exit Deb, d. f. Rolinda rises , almost upsetting Single- 
ton ; the umbrella closes over her head. 

Rolinda (angrily). Who was that ? 

Singleton. The maid. 

Rolinda. I don’t believe you. Why should you be anxious 
to hide me from a maid ? 

Singleton. Well, a maid can never keep secrets, you know. 
(Rolinda goes to sofa down r., and picks up hat and gloves ; 
aside.) I believe she is going to leave. I’m sure I hope so. 
(To Rolinda.) Well, good-bye. 

Rolinda. Good-bye ! Are you going ? 

Singleton. No, but you are. 

Rolinda. Indeed, I’m not. 

Singleton. But you can’t stay here. 

Rolinda. Oh yes, I can. 

Singleton. But you can't , I say ! Think of me ! 

Rolinda. That’s why I stay. 

Singleton. Suppose you were discovered ! 

Rolinda. Suppose you were, you mean. No one would 
know me. 

Singleton. Oh yes, he would. I — I mean they would. 

Rolinda. Well, I can pass myself off for your sister. 

Singleton. I have no sister. 

Rolinda. I’ll be a sister to you. 


14 


a bachelor's divorce. 


Singleton (, groans ; aside). Think of having her for a relative. 

Ned {without). Uncle, may I come in ? 

Singleton {aside). Good heavens ! My nephew! {Calling.) 
No, no. Don’t come in. {To Rolinda ; motioning toward L. 
D.) Quick, in here ! No, not there, that’s my room ! In the 
library ! ( Picks up Rolinda’s hat and gloves from sofa down 

R.) Here! Take these. 

Rolinda ( taking hat and gloves). But, old chappie, 1 would 
far rather remain. 

Singleton. Yes, so would I, and one of us must go. I would 
be delighted to have your company, but — a — hurry ! Please 
hurry ! I’ll join you in a few minutes. 

Rolinda. You’re awfully rattled, aren’t you ? 

[Exit Rolinda, r. d., laughing ; Singleton locks door , r. 

Enter Ned, d. f. 

Singleton. Ned, my dear boy, I’m glad to see you. 

Ned {half aside). No one here ! {To Singleton.) I thought 
you had company. 

Singleton. So I had ; very good company ; but she — I — I 
mean he — has just gone. Ned, you can lift a weight of anxiety 
from my mind. [*S*7 j. 

Ned. / can, Uncle ? 

Singleton. Tell me, tell me honestly {Aside.) But how 

can I accuse him of flirting with an actress ? No, I will let him 
confess of his own free will. 

Ned. Tell you what, Uncle ? 

Singleton. Have you no confession to make ? 

Ned {perplexed). Confession ! {Aside.) Great Scott ! Can 
he have discovered my love for Nell Busby ? 

Singleton. Well, sir ! Why don’t you answer me ? You 
hesitate. Are you trying to hide something of which you are 
ashamed ? 

Ned. No, no, Uncle ! I am not ashamed of it. 

Singleton. Then you acknowledge it ? [Rises. 

Ned. Yes, but 

Singleton. And you are not ashamed of it ! 

Ned. Why should I be ? 

Singleton. I am ashamed to hear you ask such a question, 
sir. 

Ned. I love her with all my heart, and she 

Singleton {interrupting). Love her ! Why, this is terrible ! 
I have misjudged you, Edward. I have credited you with being 
a good, honest, straightforward man, worthy the position you 
hold as my nephew, but to have you secretly making love to a 
woman — a woman, sir, far beneath you in the social scale — and 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


15 

then, to hearyou say that you are not ashamed ofyour action 

Oh, it’s too much ! 

Ned. But, Uncle 

Singleton ( sarcastically ). Oh, of course, you can explain 
matters satisfactorily. I suppose you will say you are proud of 
this — a — a — this female. Go on ! Say it ! Say it ! 

Ned. I am proud of her, sir ! 

Singleton {angrily). Now, how dare you ? How dare you 
tell me so ? 

Ned. Uncle, the girl I love is worthy the love of any man ; 
she is good and kind and would make me 

Singleton ( interrupting ). A pauper, sir ! 

Ned. Never ! 

Singleton {angrily). Then I will ! I will, I say ! You have 
been a good nephew to me — as far as appearances are concerned ; 
you knew that I expected to leave you the bulk of my fortune — 
and you have taken advantage of it. 

Ned. Uncle, you know that is not true. 

Singleton {furiously). Oh, I lie, do I ? Do you judge others 
by yourself, sir ? 

Ned. Uncle ! 

Singleton {repenting). There, there, Ned ! I spoke has- 
tily ; lorgive me. This matter has excited me. My dear boy, 
why can’t you marry some girl worthy a place in your affec- 
tions ? {Pleadingly.) Won’t you give her up ? For my sake, 
Ned ? 

Ned. I cannot. 

Singleton {angrily). You shall ! Yes — or be no heir of 
mine. (Ned atte7npts to speak.) Not one word, sir! 1 De- 
cide ! This woman, disgrace and poverty, or wealth and — a — 
a — happiness. But I will be lenient with you ; you can have 
until this afternoon. Then you must give me your answer. 
Until then you are my nephew and my heir — whether you will 
remain so, depends entirely upon yourself. (Rolinda pounds 
upon door , R. ; aside.) By Jove ! That woman will ruin every- 
thing. (Rolinda pounds again ; explaining to Ned.) They 
are cleaning the library to-day ; I — I think I had better tell them 
to 

Ned {interrupting and going toward door , R.). Can’t I tell 
them ? 

Singleton. Stop ! I — I need no assistance, sir. 

[Exit Singleton, r. d. 

Ned. Now what have I done to make Uncle act so ? Give 
up Nell Busby ! Not for all the money in the world. But why 
should he ask it ? I always thought he admired her. What 
will Nell say ? I can’t ask her to become the wife of a pauper ; 
and yet she would gladly share my poverty — 


i6 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Enter Nell, l. d. 


— and for my sake say 

Nell. Good-morning, Ned. 

Ned. Ah. Nelly. ( Takes her hands.) Would you hesitate 
to become a pauper’s bride ? 

Nell. Now, don’t talk nonsense, Ned. 

Ned. It isn’t nonsense ; it is bitter earnest. 

Nell. Well, you know I detest bitter things. 

Ned. But should circumstances darken my future 

Nell {laughing). Circumstances alter cases, you know. 

[ Crosses to R. 

Ned. And would circumstances alter your love ? 

Nell. Oh, that’s quite another matter ; my heart will never 
change 

Ned. I knew it. 

Nell. But “ love in a cottage ! ” Ugh ! I’d as soon live in a 
pig-sty. 

Ned {following Nell to r. ; affectionately). You would 
make a very sweet pig, Nelly. 

Nell. What ! 

Ned. I— I mean, if you were one, my dear ; you would grace 
any sphere. 

Nell. Well, I don’t care to be a graceful pig, or to live in a 
cottage either. But I am to be the wife of a rich man ; am I 
not, Ned ? 

Ned. Yes, oh yes ; very rich. {Aside.) How can I tell her 
that if I marry her, Uncle will disown me ? 

Nell. Mama is so ambitious for me, and when she learns 
that I am to marry the nephew and heir of the wealthy Mr. 
Singleton, she will be so pleased. Shall I tell her all about it, 
to-day ? 

Ned. No, no ; not to-day, Nell. 

NelL When ? 

Ned. I — I do not know — something has happened, I — I can’t 
tell you what ; something that may come between us — somebody 
— a 

Nell {with dignity). You need say no more. {Passes before 
him to L. of arm-chair up C.) You will please spare my feel- 
ings. 

Ned, Nelly, I [. Follows her. 

Nell {going around to R. of chair). I understand ; somebody 
has come between us. 

Ned {the chair is between them). No, no ; I said something. 

Nell. It is just the same. If you loved me as you profess, 
you wouldn’t think of somebody else. [ Goes to R. of chair, 

Ned. But, I can’t help thinking. 


A BACHELOR’S DIVORCE. 


17 


Nell. There ! Go on ! ( Beginning to cry.') Break my 

heart ! Tell me you love another ! 

Ned ( trying to put his arm around her). But I do not ; you 
are my only love. Don’t cry — please don’t. 

Nell. And will you love me always ? 

Ned. Forever! 

Nell. And we won’t live in a cottage, will we ? 

Ned. No — in a palace. (Aside.) I will have to join a build- 
ing a'ssociation. 

Nell. Then I will forgive you. 

f She is about to throw herself into Ned’s arms when 

Enter Singleton, r. d. ; Ned sees him and turns away j 
Nell falls into chair. 

Singleton (crossing to l. ; aside). I must disguise that 
woman so that Ned won’t recognize her, and then get her out of 
the house somehow. [Exit Singleton, l. d. 

Ned (aside). I thought he would be furious to find us together, 
but he seems determined to say nothing until this afternoon ; 
then I am to be disinherited. (Looking at watch j to Nell.) 
Why, it’s eleven o’clock ! I must be going. 

[Down stage to table L., C., and takes uf hat and coat. 
Nell. Y ou’ll come again soon, won’t you ? 

Ned. Of course I will ; probably this afternoon. Good-bye ! 
Nell. Good-bye ! [He kisses her. 

Ned (going up stage). You won’t forget your promise ? 

Nell. What promise ? 

Ned. Never to forget me. 

Nell. Never ! 

Ned. And love me always ? 

Nell. Always ! 

Ned. And marry me ? 

Nell. Yes. 

Ned. Then I don’t care for all the uncles in the world. 

[Exit Ned, d. f. 

Nell. Now what he does he mean by that ? He had better 
care for his uncle, or he needn’t care for me. (Seeing umbrella.) 
Oh, he forgot his umbrella ! 

[Catches it up and runs up stage , L. C. 

Enter Mrs. B., l. d., carrying a large basket. 

Nell (calling). Wait! You forgot 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). Helen ! You have evidently for- 
gotten something. 

Nell (looking around). What, Mama ? 

Mrs. B. That you are a woman and not a child. 

2 


8 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Nell. But, Mama, Ned left his umbrella. 

Mrs. B. Well, suppose he did ? ( Places basket upon chair 

by table , L. C.) It has never been considered a duty to return 
umbrellas. 

Nell. No, Mama, but 

Mrs. B. Do you wish to be thought peculiar or eccentric ? 
I wish to speak to you about a gentleman. 

[Sorts over clothes in basket. 

Nell ( half aside). A gentleman ! 

Mrs. B. Yes ; a gentleman who is greatly interested in you, 
my dear. 

Nell. In me ! (Aside.) Can she mean Ned ? 

Mrs. B. (counting collars). One, two, three, four, five, six, 
seven, eight, nine, ten. Ten collars in seven days ! (To Nell.) 
Yes, I refer to Mr. Singleton. 

Nell. Ned ! Why, I 

Mrs. B. (interrupting). What nonsense ! No, of course not ; 
I mean Mr. Samuel Singleton. 

Nell. Oh, Mama, the idea ! 

Mrs. B. It’s a very good idea. I have proof — positive proof. 
(Counting cuff's.) One, two, three, four, five, six. I offer those 
in evidence. 

Nell. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. B. (counting shirts). One, two, three, four, five, six, 
seven, eight — another witness against him. Helen, when a man 
has eight shirts, six pairs of reversible cuffs and ten collars in 
one week’s washing, there’s but one cause for it. 

Nell. Dirt. 

Mrs. B. No, love. 

Nell. Love ! 

Mrs. B. Yes. (Pointing at pile of shirts, etc.) Every piece 
in that pile testifies against him. You can be very sure that be- 
neath those shirts there beats a warm heart for you, my dear. 

Nell. Oh, Mama, I can’t believe that. 

Mrs. B. Oh yes, you can. Try ! If you try, it is very easy 
to believe that all men are in love with you. Besides — Mr. 
Singleton is in a matrimonial frame of mind just at present ; he 
told me so this morning. Now, Helen, this is a golden oppor- 
tunity ; promise me that you will accept it. 

Nell. It or him ? 

Mrs. B. Both. 

Nell. Don’t you think I had better wait until he proposes ? 

Mrs. B. Oh, he will propose. (Aside.) I’ll see to that. (To 
Nell.) You will promise ? 

Nell. But, Mama, I love [Stops. 

Mrs. B. No — one. I know it ; so much the better. Too 
much love is a bad thing, my dear. Mr. Singleton can supply 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


19 

the love and — a — the money for both. I had planned for you a 
marriage with Mr. Singleton’s nephew 

Nell ( interested ). Yes. 

Mrs. B. But he has no money. 

Nell. But he is his uncle’s heir. 

Mrs. B. Very true, but his uncle may live twenty or thirty 
years yet, and then lose all his money. 

Nell {half aside). I hadn’t thought of that. 

Mrs. B. There is too much uncertainty. {Putting clothes 
in basket.) So you will accept him, won’t you, Helen ? 

Nell. Well — a — {hesitating) perhaps, if he asks me 

Mrs. B. That’s a good daughter. {Going up stage.) When 
I have departed this life, you will thank me for the interest I 
have taken in your welfare. 

[Exit Mrs. B., d. f., taking basket. 

Nell. Mr. Singleton will never ask me to marry him, so it 
will be very easy to keep my promise. 

Enter Singleton, l. d., with wig in hand. 

Singleton {aside). She ought to be sufficiently disguised in 
this. I hope it will fit her better than it does me. 

Nell {seeing wig). Oh, Mr. Singleton ; what’s that ? A 
kitten ? 

Singleton {hastily puts wig behind him j laughing ner- 
vously). Yes — a — a puss cat. 

Nell. Do let me see it. I am so fond of kittens. (Single- 
ton puts wig under his coat.) Oh, be careful ; you’ll smother it. 

Singleton {crossing to R.). No, Nellie ; you can’t smother 
this kind of cat. {Aside.) Except with bay rum. If I could 
only get Nell out of the room 

Nell. Won’t you let me pet it ? 

Singleton. Not now ; it is a wildcat and - (Rolinda 

pou7ids upon door , R. ; excitedly .) That’s another ! 

Nell. In the library ? 

Singleton. Yes; there’s a — there’s a regular nest of them 
in there. (Rolinda pounds again.) Ha-ha-ha, isn’t it funny ? 
She’s trying — I mean he — no, it’s trying to get out. (Nell is 
frightened.) Don’t be alarmed, my dear ; they will be gone 
presently, at least, — I — I hope so. I — I’m going to donate them 
to the Zoo. {Aside.) I’m so excited I fear my nerves can’t stand 
this strain much longer. (Rolinda pounds again.) Stop that ! 
Can’t you keep quiet ? It needs something to soothe it ; can’t 
you get me something, Nelly ? 

Nell. What ? 

Singleton. Anything, so you go. 

Nell. How would some soothing syrup do? 

Singleton. Just the thing — only go. 


20 


A bachelor's divorce. 


Nell. I won’t be a minute. [Exit Nell, l. d. 

Singleton ( calling after her). Oh, don’t hurry. {Unlock' 
ing door , R. ; to Rolinda.) There is no time to lose. 

Enter Rolinda, r. d., carrying hat and gloves . 

Rolinda. I don’t want to lose any. 

Singleton. This is your only chance. 

Rolinda. For what ? 

Singleton. To go. 

Rolinda. I don’t want to go. 

Singleton. Quick! Before any one comes. {Takes wig from 
under coat.) Disguise yourself with this wig, and then leave. 

Rolinda {laughing). What a funny man you are ! I don’t 
want to disguise myself. 

Singleton. But you must ! 

Rolinda. I’m not acting a part. 

Singleton. No, but I am. 

Rolinda. Suppose some one should find me ? 

Singleton. My character would be ruined. 

Rolinda. Oh no, it wouldn’t. Now, if you were a married 
man — it might be different. 

Singleton {eagerly). Would you leave then ? 

Rolinda. I might. 

Singleton {aside). My only hope. {To Rolinda.) I am 
married. 

Rolinda. What ! You married ! {Laughs.) I don’t be- 
lieve it ! 

Singleton. But it’s true. {Aside.) What a lie ! 

Rolinda. Prove it. 

Singleton. How ? 

Rolinda. Trot out your wife. 

Singleton *{aside). What am I to do ? {Looking off L.) 
Good heavens ! Nelly is returning ! {To Rolinda.) Go ! 1 

beg of you ! No, it’s too late now. Into this room again ! 
Quick ! 

Rolinda. No, I object. 

Singleton. Back of the curtain, then ! 

{Pushes her back of window curtain in flat , r. c. ; 
again hides wig under his coat. 

Enter Nell, l. d., carrying bottle. 

Nell. Here it is. 

Singleton {watching curtain). Oh, thank you. I — I man- 
aged to quiet the beast. (Rolinda puts her head out between 
the curtains.) I — I mean the beauty. 

[Rolinda withdraws her head, 

Nell. Is it very fierce ? 

Singleton. It ! What ? 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


u 


Nell. The wildcat you had locked in the library. (Rolinda 
again puts her head out between the curtains.) Why, how you 
are trembling ! [Rolinda withdraws her head . 

Singleton. Yes, I — I am cold. 

Nell. Perhaps the window is open. [Goes toward curtain. 
Singleton. No, no ! It isn’t ; I — I closed it. 

[ The curtain moves . 

Nell. But look, the wind is blowing the curtains. 

Singleton ( half aside). Oh, good heavens ! ( Restraining 
Nell ; nervously.) Yes — a — it was so warm, I opened the 
window. 

Nell. But you said you closed it. 

Singleton. Did I ? I — I must have been mistaken. 

Nell. I will close it for you. [Goes toward curtain . 

Singleton ( dramatically ). Back ! Back, I say ! Wouldst 
rob me of my happiness ? 

Nell {retreats down stage , L.). You are talking so strangely 
— you must be unwell. 

Singleton. Yes, chills and fever ; an epidemic fit — a misfit. 
Nell. I will call mama. [Runs up stage . 

Singleton. No, no, as you love me. 

[Exit Nell, f. d., calling “ Mama. ” 
Rolinda {throwing aside curtains). Was that your wife ? 
Singleton {nervously). One of them — I — I mean all of them. 
Rolinda. I’m not afraid of her. 

Singleton. I am. 

Rolinda {going toward f. d.). So you think I had better go ? 
Singleton. Not now ! You would meet them. 

Rolinda. You are never satisfied. I believe you were born 
in the objective case. 

Singleton. You must go into the library again. 

Rolinda. Oh, I am tired of playing hide-and-seek. 

Singleton. So am I — I’m sure ; but for. my sake ; for your 
own sake ; for everybody’s sake, please go in. 

Rolinda. Upon one condition. 

Singleton. Anything. 

Rolinda. That you will give me the little lunch you promised. 
Singleton. I didn’t promise 

Rolinda. Very well, good-bye. [ Goes toward D. F. 

Singleton. No, don’t go — I beg of you ! 

Rolinda. And the lunch ? 

Singleton. A hundred. [Goes toward D. f. 

Rolinda. One will be sufficient. And if you can prove that 

woman is your wife 

Singleton. I did. 

Rolinda. Oh no, you didn’t. 

Singleton {looking out d. f.). Quick ! They are coming. 


22 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


( Again takes wig from under coat.) Here, take this wig and 
disguise yourself. 

Rolinda {> taking wig). Don’t forget the lunch, old chappie. 

[ Kisses her hand to him. Exit Rolinda, r. d. 
Singleton ( shuts door). Oh, what did I do with the key ? 
( Searches through his pockets.) I’ve lost it. Things have come 
to a crisis. I must prove that Nell Busby is my wife, or I’m 
ruined. 

Enter Mrs. B., d. f. 

Mrs. B. Oh, my dear Mr. Singleton, what is the matter ? 
Where does it hurt you ? 

Enter Nell, d. f. ; door r. opens a little. 

Singleton ( makes a spring and holds it shut by the handle). 
I — I feel better — much better. 

Mrs. B. But you are weak ; you have to support yourself. 

[Door R. opens. 

Singleton {pulling door shut with a bang ; this business is 
repeated several times during the conversation). Yes, no 
doubt of it, my dear madam, no doubt of it. 

Mrs. B. You are ill — or unwell. 

Singleton. Oh no, neither ; only sick — love-sick. 

Mrs. B. ( aside to Nell). What did I tell you ? 

Singleton {aside). I can’t hold this much longer. {To Mrs. 
B.) The strain is great ; I am pulled this way and that, {holds 
door shut with difficulty) by — by — by conflicting emotions. 

Mrs. B. You need 

Singleton {interrupting). A wife — I know it — anything so 
it’s a wife. Married, and I am safe. Can either of you ladies 
accommodate me ? {Aside.) I forgot Nell is supposed to be 
my wife. {To Nell.) I have the honor, madam — I mean, Miss 
— Miss Nelly, to offer you my hand. {Extends his hand j the 
door is pulled open a little j Singleton grabs the handle with 
both hands.) I — I mean my heart ; my hand is busy at present. 
Will you take my heart ? 

Mrs. B. Of course, she will. 

Singleton {runs to Nell and throws his ar?ns around her). 
Saved ! 

Enter Ned, d. f. ; stops , astonished. 

Enter Rolinda, r. d., wearing Singleton’s wig. 

Mrs. B. Who is this woman ? 

Singleton. That ! I don’t know ; oh yes — that’s my — my— 

my 

Rolinda. Cousin from New York. 


CURTAIN. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


*3 


ACT II. 

Scene. — The dining-room at Mrs. Busby’s. Mrs. Busby 
discovered. 

Mrs. B. ( calling out , r.). Helen ! Helen ! 

Nell {without). Yes, Mama. 

Mrs. B. Make haste ! The train is due in ten minutes, and 
I want to be sure to meet your brother Neville at the station. 

Enter Nell, r. d. 

Nell. I’m all ready, Mama. 

Mrs. B. Have you my purse ? [Nell gives her the purse. 

Nell. Oh, I forgot my new parasol. 

Mrs. B. You have no time now ; we must go immediately. 

[They go up stage. 

Enter Singleton, l. d. f. 

Mrs. B. We are just going to meet my son, the doctor. 
Will you join us, sir ? 

Singleton. I — I think I had better not 

Mrs. B. ( pointedly ). Helen will be glad to have your com- 
pany. 

Singleton. Well — a — the fact is {Hesitates j aside.) I 

wonder what the fact is. 

Mrs. B. You must entertain your cousin, I suppose ? 

Singleton. Yes ; precisely. 

Mrs. B. You will excuse us, sir ? 

Singleton. Certainly, {aside) with pleasure. 

Mrs. B. Come, Helen. [Exeunt Mrs. B. and Nell, l. d. f. 

Singleton. Yes, I must entertain my cousin. If Mrs. Busby 
only could imagine how. The actress, disguised with my wig, 
became my cousin, and Ned, so far, has not recognized her. 
{Sitting R. of table , L. C.) How many and how varied have 
been my birthday presents ! First, I receive a letter ; then a 
caller ; I have a contest with imaginary wildcats ; I am forced 
into a proposal of matrimony, and an unknown cousin from New 
York puts in an appearance. I don’t want to marry Nell Busby ; 
I would far rather have the mother — a good, sensible woman. 
But “ beggars mustn’t be choosers,” and, being driven to a pro- 
posal, I was glad enough to get a wife of any color, shape or 
form. {Bitterly.) And now, to crown all my other joys, I must 
give a lunch to this actress. All this I must suffer for my 


24 


A BACHELORS DIVORCE. 


nephew’s sake. ( Starting up.) Good heavens ! I must do it 
immediately, too, or they will return. ( Runs up stage , calling:) 
Deb ! Deb ! (Enter Deb, r. d. f., bearing a tray with two 
decanters of wine and four glasses.) Ah ! Is everything 
ready ? 

Deb. Yeth, thir. [Goes toward small table , R. C. 

Singleton. No, not there ; over here. (Deb crosses to l. c. 
down stage , and places decanters and glasses on table.) Now, 
Deb, remember what I told you : not a word of this to any one. 

Deb. I won’t breathe a word to a living thoul, thir. 

Singleton. Nor to a dead one, either. I can’t run any risks. 
I’ll pay you well — I told you I would. 

Deb. Yeth, thir. 

Singleton. This is just a little — a — attention to — a — to my 
cousin. 

Deb. Your couthin, thir? 

Singleton {crossly). I said cousin ; I guess I can have a 
cousin. 

Deb {laughing). Of courthe you can, thir. I have loth of 
them methelf. Couthin ! [Exit Deb, r. d. f., laughing. 

Singleton. There may be something very amusing about her 
cousins ; there’s nothing funny about mine. Now to find her. 
The sooner begun, the sooner ended. [Exit Singleton, r. d. 

Neville {without). By Jove ! This is deuced heavy ! (Enter 
Neville, l. d. f., carrying valise. Enter Deb, r. d. f.) Here, 
girl — take this trunk. (Deb takes valise.) Be careful — it’s 
heavy ; weighs about five tons. 

Deb. Are you 

Neville ( interrupting ). Look out ! You’ll break the bottles ! 
— a — a — medicine bottles, of course. 

Deb. Ith thith Mr. Neville, thir ? 

Neville. Doctor Neville, my dear — Doctor Neville. I left 
home “ Mister,” I return “ Doctor.” Where is Mrs. Busby ? 

Deb. Theth went to the thtation, thir. [Puts down valise. 

Neville. What ! Gone out ! A nice way to welcome a son ! 
I hope you will never treat your offspring in such deuced bad 
form. What’s your name, my dear ? 

Deb. Deb, thir. 

Neville. Jeptha? 

Deb. No, Debora. 

Neville. Oh, Debora. You should have been a darkey ; you 
have a “ Dinkey” name. 

Deb. How much you favor your mother, thir. 

Neville. It’s a very great favor. 

Deb. I mean in lookth. 

Neville. The looks are all in my favor. 

Deb {aside). What contheit ! 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


25 


Seville (perceiving table down L. c.). Ah ! Lunch is all 
ready, I see. I’m beastly hungry ; haven’t eaten anything for — . 
a — eight days. 

Deb. How empty you mutht be, thir. 

Neville. As empty as a skull. A professional term. I’ll not 
wait for the others. Hello ! Wine ! ( Takes up decanter .) 

Now this is thoughtful in the old — in — a — a — in my dear mama. 

Deb. Oh, you muthtn’t drink that, thir. 

Neville. Why not ? {Putting down decanter .) Is it drugged ? 

Deb. That’th for Mr. Thingleton. 

Neville. Thingleton ! Thingleton or Singleton ? 

Deb. Thingleton, thir. 

Neville. Ah yes — Singleton. Who is he ? 

Deb. The gentleman whith boardth here, thir. 

Neville. Boards here ! Have they turned this into a drunk- 
ards’ home ? 

Deb. Mr. Thingleton doethn’t drink, thir. 

Neville. He doesn’t ? Then what does he want with all that 
wine ? To perfume his handkerchief ? 

Deb. He’th going to give a lunch to hith couthin. 

Neville. Another boarder ? 

Deb. No, thir. The come to thee him to-day. 

Neville. She ! 

Deb (aside j laughing'). Hith couthin ! 

Neville {aside). A female ! This is becoming interesting. 

Deb {to Neville). Mr. Thingleton said for me not to tell no 
— one 

Neville. That’s all right, my girl ; you have done nobly. Be 
assured you shall lose nothing by informing me. {Aside.) Nor 
make anything, either. {To Deb.) Now, if you will take my 
luggage to my room — I — I will follow presently. 

Deb. Yeth, thir. [Takes up valise. 

Neville. Be very careful of the bottles ; medicine, you know. 
(Deb goes toward L. d.) Deb ! Is the cousin young ? 

Deb. Yeth, thir. 

Neville. Pretty ? 

Deb. Rather handsome, thir. [Exit Deb, l. d. 

Neville {goes to table down L. c.; pours ont a glass of wine 
and drinks it.) A cousin ! {Drinks another glassful.) A 
dinner for two — in secret ! There’s some mystery here. Sin- 
gleton must be a sly dog. I would like to join the party. I sup- 
pose I can’t do it without an invite. {Thoughtfully.) And yet 
— by Jove ! A good idea ! I’ll hide ! ’Tis for the cause of 
science. {Looking around .) That screen — it’s too far away. 
Science would suffer at that distance. Why, the very thing ! If 
I can’t sit at the table, l ean sit under. And since I can’t enjoy 
the feast after it begins, I might as well enjoy it now. {Takes 


26 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


up decanter and glass.) A toast ! ( Pours otit wine.) Here’s to 

my charming Roly — and may we meet soon ! Here’s to the fair 
cousin ! ( Looking off R.) The deuce ! Here she comes ! 

[Puts down glass and hides under table. The cloth 
comes almost to the ground. 

Enter Rolinda and Singleton, r. d. Rolinda has left off 
Singleton’s wig. 

Rolinda. I declare, I never saw such a man. I believe 
you’re the most restless mortal alive. 

Singleton. But don’t you understand 

Rolinda. I do ; every one is out. 

Singleton. But every one will be home in a few minutes. 

Rolinda. Well ! What’s the difference ? 

Singleton. No difference; my troubles will be multiplied. 

Rolinda. You forget ; I am your cousin. 

Singleton. Oh no, I don’t. But you forget that — a — I am 
married. 

Rolinda ( looking at table down l. c.). Why, there’s nothing 
but wine. 

Singleton. Yes ; I — I thought we would have no time for 
anything else. 

Rolinda. And only two decanters — and one but half full, too. 

[Sits R. of table j SINGLETON L. of table. 

Singleton. But I very seldom drink. 

Rolinda [laughing). I never do. This is one of the excep- 
tions to the rule. Well, let’s be merry ; pour me out a glass. 
(Singleton takes the decanter that is but half full.) No, not 
that one ; we will take this first — there’s more in it. (Rolinda 
takes the decanter that is but half full and puts it on the floor 
beside her chair j Singleton takes the other decanter and 
fours out a glass for Rolinda.) Well, don’t keep me waiting. 
(Rolinda pours out a glass for Singleton ; he drinks it very 
slowly. Rolinda takes a sip , and then , unseen by Singleton, 
pours what remains into the decanter on the floor beside her.) 
Why, you are very slow. Another ! (SINGLETON fills her 
glass.) Help yourself; don’t be backward. (Singleton fills 
his glass j Rolinda repeats business. Singleton pours his 
into decanter on the table.) One more. ( They repeat busi- 
ness.) We must empty this before we stop. 

Singleton. What ! This decanter full ! 

Rolinda. Yes ; and the other one, too. 

Singleton {aside). I must adopt different tactics. 

[He fills glasses , and while Rolinda empties her glassful 
into decanter on the floor , he places his wine-glass on 
the table beside her t and when ROLINDA turns , pretends 
to drink from an empty glass. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


27 

Rolinda ( seeing glassful beside her). Ah ! You are very- 
kind. 

Singleton. Not at all. 

Rolinda. But I’m afraid you are not doing yourself justice. 

Singleton. Oh yes, I am. 

[ They repeat above business j then, while Rolinda emp- 
ties her glassful into decanter on floor, Singleton fills 
all three glasses and puts them on the table by her side. 

Rolinda. Why, you are real attentive ; but you are robbing 
yourself. 

Singleton. Not at all ; the fact is, I 

Rolinda ( interrupting ). Come ! You haven’t toasted me yet. 

Singleton. Haven’t I? (Fills glasses; weakly.) Your 
health ! 

Rolinda (rising ; angrily). Don’t insult me, sir ! Rise 
when you toast a lady. (SINGLETON rises ; they step forward.) 
Now. 

Singleton. Health to you ! 

[They clink glasses, and each pretends to drink. Neville 
reaches from under table and takes decanter. 

Rolinda. Another toast! To your beloved wife! (They 
clink glasses and pretend to drink, as before. Neville exits, 
L. D., taking decanter ; turning.) Why, where’s the other de- 
canter ? (Looks under table.) What did you do with it ? 

Singleton. Nothing. 

Rolinda. Come, where did you put it ? Out with it. 

Singleton. I — I didn’t swallow it. 

Rolinda. Now, that’s what I call 

Nell (without ; calling). Deb ! 

Singleton. Good heavens ! They’ve returned. (Bustling 
about.) We must hide these things. 

Rolinda. There’s no time for that ; you had better hide 
yourself. 

Singleton. You mean yourself. Make haste ! Hide! Any- 
where — under the table ! No, back of this screen. [Rolinda 
hides behind screen up R. Can be seen by audience.) Now for 
these evidences of guilt. [ Goes toward table down l. c. 

Enter Nell, l. d. f. 

Singleton (aside). My fiancee ! 

[ Stands between Nell and the table and tries to hide it. 

Nell. Have you seen Neville ? 

Singleton (nervously). The devil ! No ; have you ? 

Nell (with dignity). I mean my brother, sir. 

Singleton. Rather hard on your brother, don’t you think ? 
Ha-ha-ha ! you are very clever. 

Rolinda (aside). Poor man ! 


28 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Nell. Mr. Singleton, I — I don’t understand your manner. 
Singleton. Neither do I. 

Nell. I asked you if Neville had come, and 

Singleton (i interrupting ). Neville ! I thought you said— 
Nell (interrupting). You needn’t say it. 

Singleton. Well, if you wish to monopolize the word. 
Rolinda (aside). He is becoming witty. 

Singleton. If you had said “ Neville ” 

Nell. I did. 

Singleton. Did you ? Probably my thoughts were full of 

Nell (interrupting). Don’t say that word again. 

Singleton. My dear, I was going to say 

Nell (interrupting). Stop ! No wonder your nephew uses 
so much — a — a — slang. 

Singleton (aside). I can’t hide this table much longer. (To 

Nell.) You were asking after your brother 

Nell. Yes. Has he been here? 

Singleton. No. 

Nell. Hasn’t he ? Then I must hurry right back to the sta- 
tion. Mama and I were just too late to meet the train Neville 
expected to take, so she sent me back to see if he had come. 
But he must have taken the accommodation. (Aside.) I will 
carry my new parasol this time. [Exit Nell, r. d. 

Singleton (to Rolinda). Come ! Help me get rid of this 
wine. ^ Takes decanter. 

Rolinda (coming from behind screen). Where shall we 
hide it ? 

Singleton. We can put it behind the screen. 

Rolinda. A good idea ; table and all. 

Singleton. No, the table is too large. That little one will 
do. (Indicating small table , R. C.; taking up glasses , etc., 
from table down L. C.) Now, you put the cloth on that table 
and hide it back of the screen. Please make haste. 

Rolinda (obeying). I obey — your majesty. 

Singleton. Now move it behind the screen. 

Rolinda. Move it yourself! I’m no spirit medium ! You 
make me do all the hard work. (Singleton puts decanter and 
glasses on small table and moves it back of screen up R.) Now 
we can enjoy ourselves. 

Singleton. Enjoy myself! Woman, don’t mock at me in my 
misery. 

Rolinda (laughing). But you know you want to hide away 
some more wine ; you said so. 

Singleton. I want nothing 

Rolinda. Nothing ? 

Singleton. But to be left in peace. 

Rolinda. Why, you have lost 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


29 


Singleton [finishing her sentence ). My self-respect ! Every- 
thing !~ [Aside.) I’ve a good mind to tell her the truth ; I have 
endured enough for Ned’s sake. 

Rolinda [sits r. c.; to Singleton). But you have one thing 
left to you, old chappie. 

Singleton. Don’t call me old chappie. 

Rolinda. /am left to you. 

Singleton {groans and sinks into a chair by table down L. C.) 
Yes, you will remain forever. 

Rolinda. Well, since you so kindly invite me to stay 

Singleton [starting up). I invite you ! Never ! I invite 
you to leave ! Immediately ! Do you hear ? 

Rolinda [laughing). I regret that I cannot accept your kind 
invitation. 

Singleton. You must ! 

Rolinda [rising). You tell a lady she “ must ” ? 

Singleton. No, no, not a lady ; I — I beg pardon, I — I 
mean [ Hesitates . 

Rolinda. You had better be very careful what you mean. 

Singleton. Yes, so I am. But — a — [entreatingly) don’t you 
think you had better go ? 

Rolinda. No ; I’ve had such an enjoyable day 

Singleton. But I haven’t. [Solemnly .) Madam, you have 
ruined what might have been one of the happiest days of my 
life. 

Rolinda [laughing). Don’t make me feel badly. 

Singleton. This is the anniversary of my birth ; but should 
any one wish me many returns of this day, I — I — I would kill 
him. Oh, why did you ever cross my path ? Why do you come 
here to destroy my peace of mind ? 

Rolinda [imitating him). Why did you ask me ? 

Singleton. Ask you ! I ask you ! [Aside.) Am I going 
crazy ? 

Rolinda. You invited me to lunch with you. 

Singleton. Indeed I did not. 

Rolinda. You did ; I have your letter. 

Singleton. No, no ; I never wrote you a letter. 

Rolinda [impatiently). Bah ! 

Singleton [aside). I have suffered enough for Ned ; he must 
bear his own burden in future. [To Rolinda.) Madam, I am 
going to tell you the truth. (Rolinda laughs sarcastically .) 
You have mistaken me for my nephew, Edward Singleton. It 
was he who asked you to lunch ; he sent you flowers. [Halj 
aside.) And he has caused me all this misery. 

Rolinda [shaking her head). You call that the truth ? 

Singleton. The whole truth. 

Rolinda. And nothing but the truth ? 


30 


A bachelor's divorce. 


Singleton. Yes, yes ; believe me. 

Rolinda. Why should I ? 

Singleton. My nephew is young ; he is inexperienced. I 
wished to shield him from — a — a [. Hesitates . 

Rolinda. Me ? 

Singleton. Yes, I will be honest. I love Ned as 1 a son ; he 
is to be my heir. 

Rolinda ( interested ). Your heir ! How about your wife ? 

Singleton. I have no wife. 

Rolinda. Come, come ; I can’t believe everything. (Enter 
Ned, l. d. f.) But if your nephew 

Singleton ( interrupting ). There he stands, madam ! The 
instigator of all this evil ! The cause of all my wretchedness ! 

Ned. Why, Uncle ! 

Singleton. Too late ! Too late ! I have tried to save you. 
For your sake I have undergone torment ; but enough ! {To 
Rolinda.) Take him! Make his life miserable! Treat him 
as you have me ! ( Goes up stage , R.) I’ll shield him no longer ; 

I’ll be his proxy no longer ; I’ll endure no more. 

[Exit Singleton, r. d. f. ; Rolinda throws her arms 
around Ned. 

Enter Nell, r. d. ; stops surprised. 

Rolinda {to Ned). My dear old chappie ! I have found you 
at last. [Exit Nell, r. d. 

Ned. Madam — I — I do not understand. 

Rolinda. I received your flowers and messages of love. 

Ned {liberating himself). My messages of love ! 

Rolinda. Yes. You have not forgotten me already ? Don’t 
you remember your Roly ? 

Ned. Roly ! I never had one to remember. 

Rolinda. I am that one. 

Ned. Well, I certainly do not remember you. 

Rolinda. You forget me ? Rolinda Bruton, the actress. 

Ned {half aside). An actress ! I — I thought you were my 
uncle’s cousin. 

Rolinda. Then he is your uncle ? 

Ned. Mr. Singleton ? Yes. 

Rolinda {aside). I was beginning to think the old man had 
deceived me again. (7hNED.) And you are your uncle’s heir ? 

Ned. No, I fear not ; he has disinherited me. 

Rolinda. Now look here ; which one am I to believe — you 
or your uncle ? He told me that you are to be his heir and you 
deny it ; he said that you are the admirer for whom I am seek- 
ing, and you tell me you never saw me before. 

Ned. Indeed, that is true. 

Rolinda. Well, then, if you are to be believed 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


3 * 


Ned. I am, I assure you. 

Rolinda. Your urrcle is the most accomplished prevaricator 
I ever met. {Determinedly .) I’ll learn the truth. ( Going up 
stage, R.) I am tired of this deception. 

[Exit Rolinda, r. d. f. 

Ned. Either she is crazy or uncle is ; perhaps both. Cer- 
tainly uncle has shown marked signs of insanity to-day. ( Sits 
R. of table down L. C.) He told me this morning that if I 
married Nell Busby he would disinherit me, and then — proposed 
to her himself. That was a very mean advantage to take of me. 
Of course, Nell was not to blame, she was forced into it by her 
mother. Then, what did uncle mean by telling that woman — 
an actress she called herself — that I was her devoted admirer ? 
And he said she was his cousin too. In my opinion, they are 
both crazy. 

Enter Nell, r. d., carrying parasol. 

Nell {not perceiving Ned). The flirt! The base deceiver! 

[Ned rises and goes to meet her ; she sees him a7id stops. 

A slight pause. 

Ned. Nell, I 

Nell {interrupting). How dare you ! ( Sarcastically .) You 
“dear old chappie.” 

Ned. But you don’t understand. 

Nell (. sarcastically ). Oh, don’t I ? I understand perfectly. 
She has “ found you at last,” has she ? Well, she can keep you. 
Who wants you ? I’m sure I don’t. 

Ned. Now, Nell, don’t be unkind ; that woman mistook me 
for some one else. 

Nell. You didn’t mistake her. 

Ned. I never saw her before to-day. Don’t you believe me ? 

Nell ( sarcastically ). Oh, certainly ; of course. If you never 
saw her before, you are very free with a stranger, — that’s all. 

Ned. F ree ! 

Nell. Yes, free ; I saw you embracing her. 

Ned. I didn’t embrace her ; she embraced me. 

Nell ( laughing bitterly). Ha-ha-ha ! and you expect me 
to believe that ? 

Ned. Certainly, if you had seen 

Nell (i interrupting ). I saw sufficient. 

Ned. — or heard * 

Nell ( interrupting ). I heard too much. 

Ned. If you had seen and heard what followed, you would 
know that I speak the truth. (Nell turns away impatiently .) 
I think you are very unreasonable. You told me this morning 
you loved me 

Nell. I hate you ! 


32 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Ned. Nell, you know you don’t mean that. 

Nell (sta?nfiing). I do mean it. 

Ned {aroused). You do ? Then why should I care for you ? 
I begin to understand now. You are a mercenary woman ; you 
do not know the meaning of love. You knew that I was to be 
disinherited if I married you, so you jilted me and accepted my 
uncle for his money. (Excitedly.) May you be happy with 
him ! Ha-ha-ha ! marry a madman for his money ! The wife 
of a lunatic ! 

Nell. What do you mean ? 

Ned. I mean that the man whose wealth you dote upon 
has gone crazy. 

Nell. Crazy ! 

Ned. Yes — crazy as a March hare. {Sarcastically .) Do 
you think his money will fully counterbalance his madness ? 
Marry him and find out ! Good-bye, Mrs. Samuel Singleton. 
I’ll waste no more time upon you. Perhaps some day you may 
need a friend or a lover ; then you will wish for the one you have 
jilted. [Exit Ned, l. d. f. 

Nell, Jilted ! Have I done that ? And for a lunatic ! Oh, 
Ned ! Ned ! Comeback ! I — Ido love you ! Don’t leave me ! 
Ned ! Ned ! [Exit Nell, l. d. f. 

Enter Neville, l. d., cautiously ; a little excited with wine . 

Neville. The parlor entertainment is over. {Approaches 
table down L. C.) Not a drop left ; they must have been awful 
thirsty. That sweet cousin ! How much her voice reminded 
me of Roly’s. I didn’t see her face — nor Singleton’s either. 
{Crosses to R., seeing table behind screen.) Hello ! Another 
lunch ! Singleton seem to be entertaining his relations to-day. 

\Pours out a glass of wine. 

Enter Rolinda, r. d. f. 

Rolinda. I swear I will learn the truth. 

Neville {aside). Oh, some one has lost a temper. {Stands 
upon chair and looks over screen. Rolinda has her back 
towards him.) The fair cousin ! {To Rolinda.) Allow me, 

my dear madam, to drink to the health of (Rolinda 

turns.) Roly ! 

Rolinda. Sir ! 

Neville {pathetically). After six long, weary months of 
waiting. 

Rolinda. You appear to know me ? 

Neville. Know you ! Could I ever forget that face ! — that 
voice ! Even while I was under the table I recognized it above 
me. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


33 


Rolinda {aside). Does he mean my voice, or the table ? He 
must be intoxicated. 

Neville {stretching out his arms). Oh, come to my arms ! 
Just wait one minute. {Descends from chair ; puts glass on 
table and approaches Rolinda ; strikes attitude.) Dearest, 
my shoulder is yours. 

Rolinda. My dear boy 

Neville. Yes. 

Rolinda. You are a total stranger to me. 

Neville. Yes, a stranger in form and feature ; a stranger in 
head, but not in heart. Don’t you remember your “ Dear Old 
Chappie ” ? 

Rolinda. My “ Dear Old Chappie ” ? 

Neville. Ah, I see you haven’t forgotten. Imagine the state 
of my feelings, when, as a reply to a note in which I entreated 
your company at a little lunch, I find you enchanting another. 

Rolinda. What ! Did you invite me to lunch with you ? 

Neville. Can you forget so soon ? 

Rolinda. How long since ? 

Neville. About six months — it seems years. 

Rolinda. And did you send me flowers ? 

Neville. Millions of them. 

Rolinda {aside). The clouds are breaking. This must be 
the real nephew and heir ; the old idiot tried to deceive me 
again. 

Neville. Roly 

Rolinda. My dear old chappie ! (Neville kneels and clasps 
his hatids.) For all past favors received accept our sincere 
thanks. For all favors to come 

Neville. Accept ours. 

Rolinda. You may kiss my hand. 

Neville. Your slave, madam. {Kisses her hand ; rising.) 
Come, will you accept my invitation to lunch ? Join with me 
and refresh the inner woman. 

Rolinda. No refreshment 

Neville. Oh, do not refuse. {Crosses to R.) I have had 
lunch prepared, and 

Rolinda ( interrupting ). Did you have that prepared ? 

[ Follows Neville to r. 

Neville. Well — a 

Rolinda. I believe you are as untruthful as your uncle. 

Neville. My uncle ! I have no uncle. 

Rolinda. What ! Isn’t Mr. Singleton your uncle ? 

Neville. My hated rival ! 

Rolinda. And are you not his heir ? 

Neville. Not that I know of. 

Rolinda {crossing to L.). Then what do you mean by this 

3 


34 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


deception ? (Neville follows her to l.) I had thought you an 
honest man — a gentleman ; but you are a base deceiver ! 

[Goes around table down L. c. and crosses to R. 

Neville {following her). Roly ! 

Rolinda. I repeat it, sir — a deceiver ! Without an uncle ! 

Neville. Roly ! 

Rolinda. Without expectations ! 

Neville. Oh, but I have. 

Rolinda. Have you ? 

Neville. Yes, great expectations. {Aside.) I don’t know 
what, but I must calm her somehow. 

Rolinda. And you will be wealthy some day ? 

Neville. I shall roll in wealth. 

Rolinda {aside). And I shall roll with him. 

Neville. And I shall be great with a great name. Am I 
not a physician ? 

Rolinda. What ! you a doctor ? 

Neville. I said a “physician,” Roly; it sounds more digni- 
fied. You might not suppose it from my outward appearance, 
but {striking attitude) I am a physician. I am also very 
clever. 

Rolinda. Very. 

Neville. By exceedingly hard study 

Rolinda {sarcastically). Yes 

Neville. I crowded a three years’ medical course into six 
months. 

Rolinda. Yes, you did. 

Neville. Well, so my dear mama supposes. I can treat 

Rolinda {interrupting). The boys ? 

Neville. A very good guess. And now, as a token of your 
favor, won’t you join me ? 

Rolinda. Well, to oblige you. {They sit by table r. of screen, 
uf stage. Neville is about to fill Rolinda’s glass.) None 
for me. I have had sufficient for one day. 

Neville. Just a little. Come, enter with me into the spirit of 
the occasion. 

Rolinda. Your actions prove that you have already done so. 

Neville. Now do — there’s a dear. What ! would you drink 
with your rival and not with me ? 

Rolinda. Oh, but he forced me. 

Neville. Forced you! The villain ! 

Rolinda. Yes, and he is a -married man too. 

Neville. Why, this is scandalous! Outrageous! Would 
that he were here now. 

Rolinda. What would you do ? 

Neville {rising; dramatically ). I would cast my gauntlet at 
his feet and challenge him to mortal combat. 


A bachelor’s divorce. 


35 


Rolinda ( applauding ). Bravely spoken ! 

Neville {filling Rolinda’s glass). Just a drop. 

Rolinda. For your sake. [Takes a sip. 

Neville. Behold the triumph of a physician over his rival ! 
( Drinks a glass of wine.) Brute force succumbs to science ! 

Rolinda. Don’t be nonsensical. 

Neville. I’m very sensical. Just a drop ! {Empties another 
glassful .) Care killed a cat ; therefore, let’s kill care ! Another 
drop ! {Empties another glassful.) A song ! {Sits.) Don’t 
you want to hear a song ? 

Rolinda. That depends. Can you sing ? 

Neville. Sing ! Just listen. 

Enter Mrs. Busby, l. d. f. 

Neville {singing). “ Don’t forget your mother, boys ” 

Mrs. B. My son’s voice ! 

Neville {singing), “Johnny, fill up the bowl.” 

Mrs. B. {calling). Neville ! My dear child, where are you ? 

Neville {standing upon chair and looking over screen). How- 
de-do, Mumsy ? Glad to see you. 

Mrs. B. Oh, my darling boy ! [Is about to run around screen. 

Neville. Stop ! I pray, I command you to stop ! Another 
step and you are a — a— corpse ! 

Mrs. B. ( retreating ). Why ! What do you mean ? 

Neville {giving his hand to Rolinda). I mean, your life is 

in danger ; there threatens — a — a {Aside to Rolinda.) 

What threatens ? 

Rolinda {aside to Neville). A calamity. 

Neville. Oh yes ; there threatens a calamity — so I’ve just 
been informed — you know not of. But I shall protect you ; I 
am a — a — hero. 

Mrs. B. {agitated). Oh ! 

Neville. Shew ! You will arouse it. 

Mrs. B. {in a whisper). It ! What ? 

Enter Ned and Nell, l. d. f. 

Neville. A wild beast ! A fury ! A (Rolinda pinches 

his hand.) Owch ! Let go my hand ! 

Mrs. B. Help ! My son is being eaten alive ! 

Nell. Is it Mr. Singleton’s wildcat ? 

Neville. Singleton ! 

Mrs. B. A wildcat ! Oh, I shall faint ! {To Ned.) Mr. 
Singleton, support me, I beg of you. [Leans against Ned. 

Neville. Eh ! My rival ! {To Ned.) Drop my mother ! 
Drop her, I say ! 


3 « 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Enter Singleton, r. d. f. 

[Rolinda lets go of Neville’s hand. He pushes screen over, 
exposing Rolinda and table. Ned lets Mrs. Busby down 
on floor. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT IIL 

Scene. — Same as Act I. Neville discovered reclining upon 

sofa down R.; a towel tied around his head. Mrs. Busby 

sitting beside him ; Nell leaning over sofa , basin in hand. 

Mrs. B. Do you feel better now, dear? {To Nell.) Bathe 
his head again, Helen. 

Neville. No more baths ; I’m nearly drowned now. (Helen 
attempts to bathe his head.) Stop, I say ! You might think 
that this was a hospital. 

Mrs. B. {to Neville). There, there, my dear. Helen, don’t 
you see you are exciting your brother ? {To Neville.) Try to 
be calm, my son. Let me arrange the pillows, then perhaps you 
can fall asleep. {Arranges pillows.) That’s better. That 
awful woman has unnerved you ; when you fell fainting, she 
left 

Neville {interrupting). She hasn’t gone, has she ? 

Mrs. B. No ; she has locked herself in the library, and will 
open to no one. But do not be alarmed ; she shall not see you 
again. 

Neville. Thanks. 

Mrs. B. {to Nell). Helen, make the bed ready in Mr. Sin- 
gleton’s room. 

Neville {aside). Eh ! My rival’s room ! 

Mrs. B. Your brother is too weak to go upstairs. 

Nell. Very well, Mama ; shall I leave the basin ? 

Neville. No, it casts a damper over my spirits. 

Mrs. B. Helen, you should be more thoughtful. (Exit Nell, 
l. D.; to Neville.) If you would only fall asleep, I would 
leave you, and 

Neville ( interrupting ). Would you ? 

Mrs. B. Yes. 

Neville. I’ll do my best. 

[Leans back and shuts his eyes ; a pause. 

Mrs. B. {aside). How like his poor dear father! (Neville 
yawns.) Such an open countenance ! So trusting ! Poor inno- 
cent lamb ; it’s no wonder that female had such a bad influence 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


37 


over him. Mr. Singleton’s cousin is certainly an evil woman. 
(Neville snores.) Dear child ; he is completely exhausted. 
(J&ses ; Neville snores again.) So like his lather ! Even his 
voice ! ( Tiptoes toward door , L.; Neville cautiously sits up. 

Mrs. B. turns. Neville lies down quickly.) Sound asleep ! 

[Exit Mrs. B., l. d. 

Neville ( cautiously sitting up). So like my dear father, eh ! 
Dad must have been a pretty nice sort of a chap. Evidently she 
doesn’t like Roly. That’s because she never saw her on the 
stage. What did she say about Roly being Singleton’s cousin ? 
Oh, that’s ridiculous ! Roly hates him as much as I do. ( Looks 
out l. ; then runs to L. D. and knocks ; calling.) Roly ! Roly 
darling! There’s no one here. ( A pause; aside.) No 
answer. (Calling.) Roly! Open the door! ( A pause; 
aside.) She doesn’t hear me. Perhaps I can climb in the library 
window. [Exit Neville, d. f. 


Enter Rolinda, r. d. 

Rolinda ( looking around). He isn’t here ; and yet, lam sure 
I heard him call. What a desperate lover he is ! He hadn’t 
seen me for six months until to-day, and yet he remembered me. 
Why, he is constancy personified ! How stupid in me to think 
old Singleton my admirer. But how was 1 to know ? He 
acknowledged it — after considerable persuasion on my part, it’s 
true. (Sits c.) He said he did it to protect his nephew ; it was 
taking a great risk. Suppose his wife had caught him ; phew ! 
Wives don’t like their husbands to secretly pay attention to other 
women ; nor openly either. I wonder where my youthful ad- 
mirer is. It is about time for him to make me a proposal of 

marriage. I must bring him to it, and then (Rises.) Well, 

it depends upon the extent of that wealth he expects to roll in. 

[Exit Rolinda, r. d. 

Enter Mrs. B., l. d., upon tiptoe. 

Mrs. B. Neville, dear ! (Aside.) It seems a shame to 
awaken him. (Calling.) Neville ! Why, he’s not there ! 
Where can he be ? Perhaps he is walking in his sleep. Out of 
the window ! (Runs to window, R. F.) No, it is closed. (Enter 
Nell, l. d.) Helen ! run into the dining-room ! Make haste ! 

Nell. What for, Mama ? 

Mrs. B. See if you can find your brother ; I left him here fast 
asleep, but he has mysteriously disappeared. (Exit Nell, l. d. 

Looking at D. R.) Can it be (Hesitates.) I’ll find out. That 

woman must leave the house ; even if she is Mr. Singleton’s 
cousin. (Goes to D. R. and listens.) Not a sound ; it was un- 
just in me to so misjudge him. (Turns the handle of the door.) 


38 


A bachelor's divorce. 


Why, the door is unlocked. Perhaps she has left. If she hasn’t, 
she soon shall. [Exit Mrs. B., r. d. 


Enter Neville, d. f. 

Neville. The window was too high from the ground. I wish 
I understood how a fly climbs a wall. ( Goes to door , R. ; call- 
ing.) Roly, my darling ! Won’t you open the door to your old 
chappie ? Everything is hunky-dory. The old woman — that’s 
mother, you know — thinks I am sound asleep. Good joke, isn’t 
it ? She’s the sleepy one of the family. (Aside.) Ah, she is 
going to open it. (Calling.) That’s right, my angel ; come to 
my arms. [The door r. opens ; Neville holds out his arms . 


Enter Mrs. B., r. d. ; a pause. 

Mrs. B. (slowly advances down stage). Neville ! 

Neville. Y-ye-s, Mama. 

Mrs. B. Sit down ! 

Neville. Y-yes, Mama. (Sits l. c. ; after pause.) W-won’t 
you be seated ? 

Mrs. B. I prefer to stand. 

Neville (aside). She is going to sit on me, I’ll bet. 

Mrs. B. I never expected to be so deceived by my son. I 
never expected to hear a child of mine refer to his mother in such 
a disrespectful manner. 

Neville. Really, Mama, I — I didn’t know you were listening ; 
if I 

Mrs. B. (interrupting ; angrily). That makes it the worse. 

Neville. Now, Mama, you know 

Mrs. B. (interrupting). Would you insult your parent ? 

Neville. No, I wouldn’t, but 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). You have done so. You have 

dragged my name in the dust. 

Neville. Oh, no. 

Mrs. B. You have stamped upon it with a — both feet. 

Neville. Not both feet, Mama. 

Mrs. B. (excitedly). Yes, both feet ; every foot in your pos- 
session ; and now you say it is no insult ? Shame upon you ! 
(Beginning to cry.) To think that I should hear you making 
love to a woman 

Neville. Would you prefer that I should make love to a man, 
Mama ? 

Mrs. B. (continuing). A woman I detest. 

Neville. But why should you. Mama ? I — I love her, you 
know. 

Mrs. B. Love her ! Can it be possible ! 


A BACHELOR S DIVORCE. 


39 


Neville. Certainly. 

Mrs. B. No, she has beguiled you ; ensnared you. Surely 
you cannot love such a woman. You are a physician, my child ; 
cure yourself of this mad infatuation. 

Neville. Mother, you are prejudiced ; you do not appreciate 
Roly’s charms. 

Mrs. B. Charms ! She has none. 

Neville. Oh, but she has, you know. {Rises.) And so 
accomplished! You should hear her sing ! It is divine! Why, 
I believe she knows all the comic songs of the day. 

Mrs. B. Comic songs ! 

Neville. Yes. She probably knows others too, but I’ve never 
heard them. Then she’s an artist ; paints beautifully ! Why, 
you wouldn’t recognize her. 

Mrs. B. You mean she rouges ? 

Neville. Yes, calcimines ; you couldn’t do it better yourself. 

Mrs. B. (i reprovingly ). Neville ! 

Neville. I — I mean, if you tried it. And dance ; you should 
see Roly dance ! Fancy dances, you know. 

\Dances around the stage. 

Mrs. B. {solemnly). Neville ! Has she ever danced before 
you ? 

Neville. Certainly ; she’ll dance for any one who pays to see 
her. 

Mrs. B. What do you mean ? 

Neville. She makes her living that way, you know. But I 
want to marry her, Mama, and then we will have the skirt ’-.nee 
all to ourselves. [ Imitates skirt dance. 

Mrs. B. ( sinking into chair R. of table down l. c.). Oh, it is 
terrible ! 

Neville. It is pretty poor, I acknowledge ; but I’ll get Roly 
to teach me. 

Mrs. B. {groaning ). And I have been harboring 

Neville {1 interrupting ). An angel, unawares. 

Mrs. B. {angrily). Sne is a — a harpy. 

Neville. No, she’s an actress. 

Mrs. B. {shocked). An actress ! Mr. Singleton’s cousin an 
actress ! 

Neville {aroused). Singleton’s cousin ! It is false ! He is 
my hated rival and a — a villain ! 

Mrs. B. {rising). Neville, you must not talk so ; Mr. Single- 
ton is an honorable man and is going to marry your sister. 

Neville. What ! Marry Nell ! 

Mrs. B. Yes. 

Neville. Why, what do you mean ! Oh, there must be some 
mistake. 

Mrs. B. No, I have encouraged the match. 


40 


a bachelor's divorce. 


Neville. But you do not know 

Mrs. B. Everything. 

Neville. Everything ! And you approve ? 

Mrs. B. Perfectly. 

Neville {aside). The old woman is certainly getting very lax 
in her morals. {To Mrs. B.) But, Mama, the law don’t allow 
it. A man can have but one wife, you know. 

Mrs. B. I am well aware of that law, and I’m sure it’s a most 
proper one. But Mr. Singleton 

Neville ( interrupting ). Has one wife already. 

Mrs. B. Already married ! No, no — that’s impossible. 

Neville. It is true. 

Mrs. B. He proposed to Helen this morning. 

Neville. And lunched with an actress this afternoon. I tell 
you he is a villain of the deepest dye. 

Mrs. B. Oh, this can’t be true. 

Neville. Yes, it can — and it is. I have it from the best 
authority. (Enter Deb, l. d., carrying tray with empty 
decanter and glasses .) Here is ocular demonstration — the 
remains of the lunch. 

Mrs. B. Deborah, where are you taking those — a — a 

[Hesitates. 

Neville. Evidences of guilt. 

Deb. Thothe whith, thir ? 

Mrs. B. Who ordered that wine ? 

Deb. Pleathe don’t athk me, mum ; I promised Mr. Thingle- 
ton I wouldn’t thay nothing to no one, mum. 

Mrs. B. Mr. Singleton ! 

Deb. Yeth, mum. 

Neville. I said so. 

Deb. He had a little — a — a — refrethment with what he called 
hith couthin, while you wath out, mum. 

Neville. Now you know that what I told you is true. 

Deb (aside). I’m glad the mithuth didn’t make me tell 
nothin’. [Exit Deb, d. f. 

Mrs. B. He is certainly a villain. To think that I should be 
so cruelly deceived ; first by a son, and then by a son-in-law. 

Neville. We are not in league, I assure you. 

Mrs. B. And Helen — poor dear — he will break her heart. 

Neville (half aside). And I will break his. 

Mrs. B. I must warn her against this — a— wretch. (Cross- 
ing to L.) My son in love with an actress and my daughter en- 
gaged to a villain and a bigamist ! [Exit Mrs. B., l. d. 

Neville (looking after her). Her offspring seems to worry 
her. (Crossing to R.) It is all Singleton’s fault. He will have 
a big account to settle with me. (Sits upon sofa down R.) I — 
I hope he isn’t a very strong man. 


A bachelor’s divorce. 


41 


Enter Ned, d. f. 

Ned {not perceiving Neville). Nell said to wait for her here. 

Neville (rising ; aside'). By Jove ! There he is. 

[Hides behind sofa . 

Ned. She loves me, I am sure of it. 

Neville (grabbing a pillow from the sofa j aside). I’d like 
to smother him. 

Ned. And though she knows the whole truth about me, she 
has promised to be my wife. 

Neville (aside). Can it be possible that Nell knows he is 
already married ? 

Ned. How jealous she is ! But then, that is only natural. 

Neville (aside). I should think so. 

Ned. Perhaps it will be just as well not to tell her mother 
until we are married ; she might not approve. 

Neville (aside). The cold-blooded monster ! I must smother 
him. [Raises pillow j Ned rises. 

Enter Nell, l. d. 

Nod. Ah, my dear Nelly ; I was just thinking and planning 
about our marriage. Do you imagine your mother would 
approve ? 

Nell. Not if she knew what you have told me. 

Ned. I thought not. 

Neville (aside). A plot against the old lady ! 

Noll. Oh, Ned, did you know that your uncle is married ? 

Ned. Married ! Impossible 1 

Nell. But it’s true ; I have just heard. To think of his 
making love to me. 

Ned (half aside). Another proof of his insanity. 

Nell. What ! 

Ned. I — I mean to marry and keep it a secret. 

Neville (aside). Just what he hopes to do. Insanity seems 
to be an hereditary disease. 

Ned. He said nothing to me about it. No doubt some 
woman has married him for his money.- 

Nell. How awful ! 

Ned. But you love me well enough to sacrifice everything 
for my sake ? 

Nell. Everything. 

Ned. You are an angel ! 

[They are about to embrace j Neville puts pillow 
between them. 

Neville (rising). No, she isn’t. (Ned and Nell spring to 
their feet.) She is a conspirator ! 


42 


A bachelor's DIVORCE. 


Ned. And you are an eavesdropper, sir. 

Neville. I didn’t hear anything to your credit, I’m sure. I 
— I’d like to smother yon. [Raises pillow. 

Nell ( detaining him). Oh, Neville, spare him for my sake ! 

Neville. I want to smother him for your sake. The villain- 
ous bigamist ! I’m ashamed of you for encouraging him. 

Nell. Why, Neville — what does this mean ? 

Neville. You know what it means. (To Ned.) It means 
that you are a lawbreaker. 

Ned. How dare you, sir ! 

Neville (to Nell). It means that you are about to commit a 
crime ; that this man has one wife already, and that 

Ned (interrupting ; angrily). It’s false ! 

Neville. No, it doesn’t mean that. 

Nell. Ned, this isn’t true ? 

Ned. Not a word. 

Neville. Yes, it is ; every word. (Sarcastically , to Ned.) 
No doubt, you will say that you didn’t lunch with an actress 
this morning. 

Nell. An actress ! 

Ned. I most certainly did not. 

Neville (sarcastically). Oh, of course not. I suppose you 
didn’t even speak to her. You tried to pass her off as a relative, 
but 

Nell ( interrupting ). Was that the woman I saw you em- 
bracing ? 

Neville. Did he embrace her ? (Aside.) Another account 
to his discredit. 

Ned. Yes, I acknowledge 

Nell (interrupting). Then my suspicions were correct. 

[. Begins to cry. 

Ned. Nelly, I 

Neville interrupting). You need not attempt to explain. 
(To Nell.) Nell, you see that what I told you is perfectly 
true ; he can’t deny it. 

Ned. I can deny it. 

Neville (sarcastically). Oh, of course you can. 

Nell (crying). And I — I thought he loved me. 

[Exit Nell, d. f. 

Ned (angrily). Now, what the deuce do you mean by de- 
faming my character ? [Advances upon Neville. 

Neville (retreating behind sofa down R. ; aside). How fierce 
he looks ! (To Ned.) We want to do the proper thing, you 
know. 

Ned. Proper ! I call it very improper. 

Neville. So do I. You ought to reform, don’t you think ? 

Ned. Come — no jesting, sir. [Going behind sofa down R. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


43 


Neville ( moving away). I — I’m not jesting. 

Ned. You have libelled my good name. You must retract 
what you have said and apologize, or give me satisfaction. 
Neville (frightened j aside). He seems very determined. 
Ned. Which do you choose ? 

Neville. Neither. 

Ned. Will you retract your statements ? 

Neville. But — aren’t you — a — a — villain ? 

Ned. No nonsense, sir ! You refuse to apologize ? Then 
you must fight me. 

Neville. But, I say, you know ; I didn’t refuse. 

Ned. Well, I refuse to accept an apology. You have insulted 
me, sir. ( A pause.) When shall we meet ? 

Neville. Never again, I hope. 

Ned. But I demand satisfaction. 

Neville. Well — I — I don’t object to your demanding it. 

Ned. Bah ! You are a coward ! 

Neville. No, I’m not. 

Ned. Then you will fight me ? 

Neville. If you promise not to hurt. 

Ned ( sarcastically ). Oh, of course not. (Aside.) The 

baby ! 

Neville. What shall be the weapons ? 

Ned. It is your privilege to choose. 

Neville. Thanks awfully. How would swords suit you ? 
Ned. Very well, indeed. 

Neville. Then I choose pistols. 

Ned. Still better. 

Neville. Now, I say — that’s not fair, you know. I didn’t 
know you could shoot. 

Ned. Well enough to blow out your brains. 

Neville. Eh ! But you promised not to hurt. 

Ned. Oh, it won’t hurt you. (Aside.) He has no brains. 
Neville. Think not ? I — I think I would prefer some less — 
a — mortuary weapon. 

Ned (aside). The coward ! (To Neville ; sarcastically.) 
Perhaps you would like to fight with paper-cutters ? 

Neville. Just the thing. There’s less risk, you know. 

Ned. Nonsense ; pistols or nothing. 

Neville. Well, then, let it be nothing. 

Ned. Meet me at the south end of the garden in— a — (looks 

at watch) fifteen minutes 

Neville. Really, I— I’d rather not. 

Ned (advancing upon him). Then you must fight me here 
and now. 

Neville (retreating, R.). Oh, I prefer to meet you in the 
garden. 


44 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Ned. Very well. If you are not there, I will publish you as 
a coward. 

Neville. That would be real mean in you. 

[Exit Neville, r. d. 

Ned. What a coward he is ! It would be very little satis- 
faction to kill him. (Enter Singleton, l. d.) And yet he has 
circulated such lies about me ; the scoundrel ! Said that I made 
love to an actress, and 

Singleton ( interrupting ). That’s right ; call me all the 
names you can think of. 

Ned. I— I wasn’t referring to you, sir. 

Singleton ( angrily ). Yes, you were. 

Ned. I was speaking 

Singleton ( interrupting ). Very disrespectfully, sir. 

Ned. I was speaking of Neville Busby. 

Singleton {angrily). Neville Bumblebee ! 

Ned {aside). Crazy ! Poor man ! 

Singleton. “Neville, Neville, Neville” — that’s all I’ve heard 
for the last hour. I thought to escape from it by going to my 
room, but no — {sarcastically) “ the dear boy was faint ” — too 
faint to go upstairs, and must be put in my bed. They are 
crazy — every one of them. 

Ned. But, Uncle 

Singleton. How dare you, sir ! Don’t “Uncle ” me ! You 
no longer have a claim to that relationship. I gave you the 
choice — my nephew and wealth, or to be disinherited — and you 
have chosen. You followed your own inclination 

Ned. I followed my heart, sir. 

Singleton. Your heart ! Bah ! You have no heart ! You 
allowed a mere idle fancy govern you. 

Ned. It is not a fancy, sir. I care for her far more than 
you do. 

Singleton. What do you mean ? Don’t be impertinent, sir ! 
I hate the woman ! 

Ned. Hate her ! Then, sir, may I ask you why you wished 
to marry her ? 

Singleton. Marry her ? / wish to marry her ! 

Ned. You should not have proposed to her if you cared 
nothing for her. 

Singleton. Propose to her ! {Half aside.) Am I crazy ? 

Ned. I fear so. 

Singleton {furiously). Is this a jest, sir ? 

Ned {bitterly). Far from it ; I wish it were. You have pro- 
fessed affection for the girl I love. 

Singleton. Really this is too much ! / make love to an 
actress ! 

Ned {surprised). An actress ! 


A bachelor’s divorce. 


45 

Singleton. Oh, you are very innocent, but you can’t de- 
ceive me. 

Ned ( indignantly ). Nell Busby is not an actress, sir. 

Singleton. Who said she was ? Nell Busby is a good, 
sweet girl. If you had loved her 

Ned (i interrupting ). I do love her. 

Singleton ( sarcastically ). May I ask how many more you 
love ? 

Ned. None, sir. Nell is the only girl I have ever loved or 
ever shall. 

Singleton {with suppressed wrath). Come — no more of this. 
I am not here to be made sport of. 

Ned. Indeed, sir, I am in earnest. You told me this morn- 
ing that I must choose between being your heir and marrying 
Nell Busby, and 

Singleton ( interrupting ). I did nothing of the kind. I 
spoke of an actress with whom you had been flirting, and you 
know it. 

Ned. You mean the woman you thrust upon me ? I never 
saw her before to-day. 

Singleton. Eh ! 

Ned. She said you told her I loved her. Why you told her 
so, I can’t imagine. 

Singleton {aside). Can it be that I have been mistaken ? 
My brain is revolving like a merry-go-round. {Staggers to sofa 
down R. and sits ; to Ned.) Ned, either you are deceiving 
me, or I have greatly deceived myself. Be honest with me. 

Ned. I have told you the truth, sir. 

Singleton. I received a letter from this actress this morning 
— a letter I supposed was intended for you. And when I spoke 
to you of it, you acknowledged that you loved her. 

Ned. I thought you meant Nell. 

Singleton. And this actress ? 

Ned. I never heard of her. 

Singleton. And you didn’t send her flowers ? 

Ned. Not a bud. 

Singleton. Nor ask her to lunch with you ? 

Ned. Never. 

Singleton. Then all I have endured for your sake to-day has 
been wasted. I wished to shield you from her ; and since she 
said she had never seen the Mr. Singleton for whom she was 
looking and thought I was he, I determined to act the part and 
so protect you. 

Ned. How good of you, sir ! 

Singleton. I thought she would surely leave after a short 
visit, but my charms were too great — she is here still. 

Ned. I thought she was a cousin. 


46 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Singleton. No, thank goodness ! I said that to account for 
her being here. {Rising.) Ned, my dear boy, I believe that 
you have told me the truth. I have cruelly misjudged you ; 
forgive me. 

Ned. Willingly, Uncle. ( They shake hands.) I must con- 
fess, I thought you crazy. 

Singleton. I can’t blame you at all. And you really love 
Nell Itusby ? 

Ned. With all my heart. 

Singleton ( thoughtfully ), I must get a divorce in some way. 

Ned ( anxiously ). In order to marry Nell? 

Singleton. No, in order not to marry her. 

Ned. But I don’t understand ; why should you wish a divorce 
from your wife, if 

Singleton ( interrupting ). My wife ! 

Ned. Yes, Neville Busby said you had been secretly married. 

Singleton. It’s untrue ! Neville Busby is an infamous rascal ! 

Ned. That’s what I think. 

Singleton. It’s a plot to ruin my character. As if that 
actress hadn’t done enough already. 

Ned. It seems to be his one occupation. He told Nelly that 
I had a wife, and she believed him. 

Singleton. The scoundrel ! When I spoke of a divorce, I 
meant from my engagement with Nell — nothing more. I resign 
in your favor, my dear Ned. 

Ned {eagerly). Then you consent to our marriage ? 

Singleton. Most gladly. 

Ned. I must go and explain everything to Nell, and tell her 
of your approval. [Goes up stage . 

Singleton. And suppose I had disapproved ? 

Ned. I would have married her just the same. 

[Exit Ned, d. f. 

Singleton. And he would have done right. Nell Busby is 
worthy of any man’s love ; but he is welcome to her. We would 
never have been happy ; there’s too great a difference in our 
ages. {Down L.) I would far rather get a divorce now than 
wait until after our marriage. 

Enter Rolinda, r. d. 

Rolinda {to Neville, out r.). You must tight him ; it’s too 
late to apologize now. 

Neville {without). Then I am a dead man, sure. 

Singleton {perceiving Rolinda ; aside). The actress again \ 

Rolinda {perceiving Singleton). Why, here you are ! Why 
aren’t you in the garden ? 

Singleton. I have no desire to be in the garden. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


4 ) 


Rolinda. But it’s time. 

Singleton. I have no special hour for promenading. 

Rolinda. Oh, come now, I know all about your quarrel ! 

Singleton. What quarrel ? I have nothing against any man, 
except that mean, contemptible, sneaking 

Rolinda ( interrupting ). Oh, that’s just it. You should be 
more careful. You have insulted him by calling him names, and 
he is going to kill you. 

Singleton [frightened ). K-kill me ! 

Rolinda. Yes, he is a very desperate man. 

Singleton [looking around ). But I — I never did him any 
harm. Probably I misjudged him ; I feel sure I did. 

Enter Neville, r. d. ; he is closely buttoned up in an 
overcoat j hands in pockets. 

Neville [shivering ; half aside). I — I’m so cold. 

[Singleton runs behind sofa , down R. 

Rolinda [laughing ; aside). He is certainly a desperate 
character. [To Neville.) Are you ready ? 

Enter Deb, l. d. 

Neville. Ye-es, I — I suppose so. 

Rolinda. And you are going to make him apologize or kill 
him, aren’t you ? 

Neville. Ye-es. 

Deb [aside). Kill him ! Oh, there'th going to be murder 
done ! I’ll tell the mithuth. [Exit Deb, l.d. 

Neville. I’ll blow his brains out with a — a paper-cutter. 

[. Raises his arm. 

Singleton. Don’t shoot, I implore you ! 

Neville. But I 

Singleton [coming from behind sofa and falling upon his 
knees). Don’t ! Have mercy ! If you have been insulted, I 
assure you it was all a mistake ; it shall never, occur again. I 
pray you, don’t shoot ! 

Neville. I must either shoot or be shot. 

Singleton. No, no. I promise that if you will give up your 
revengeful feelings, not a hair of your head shall be touched. 

Neville. Eh ! You promise that ? 

Singleton. I do. 

Neville. By Jove ! It’s a bargain ! [Singleton rises. 

Rolinda. Bah ! A nice pair of heroes you two are. 

[Exit Rolinda, r. d. 

Neville [aside). I don’t know how he will quiet that raging 
adversary of mine, but it’s well worth the attempt. [To Sin- 
gleton.) Now, won’t you kindly go and tell Singleton that I— 


43 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


I won’t kill him to-day ? You’ll find him at the south end of the 
garden. 

Singleton. What ! You were going to fight my nephew ? 

Neville. Yes, I was. Did you think I was going to stab him 
in the back ? Your nephew, did you say ? He is my rival. I 
— I was going to kill him ; I — I wasn’t afraid. He made love 
to my Roly ; lunched with her and 

Singleton ( interrupting ). Oh, you must be mistaken. 

Neville. No, I’m not. Roly said so. 

Singleton. She meant me. 

Neville. You ! Was it you ? 

Singleton. Yes, unfortunately. 

Neville. Well, if it’s all the same to you, I — I’d rather not 
fight ; I don’t feel very well to-day. 

Singleton. I’m sure I have no wish to fight you, sir. 

Neville. But your nephew ? 

Singleton. You have certainly wronged him. 

Neville. I certainly have ; I acknowledge it. 

Singleton. You owe him an apology. 

Neville. I do, indeed. I’ll go ask his pardon. It was all a 
mistake, a clumsy mistake. ( Aside .) I hope he won’t shoot be- 
fore I have a chance to explain matters. [Exit Neville, d. f. 

Singleton. A very bloodthirsty young man ! But he is 
honest enough to acknowledge when he is in the wrong. He 
seems to admire the actress ; well, I don’t admire his poor taste. 
( Struck with an idea.) Good heavens ! That letter must have 
been intended for him ; there is no doubt of it. And I have en- 
dured all this anguish of mind for a perfect stranger. (Enter 
Rolinda, r. d. ; not perceiving Rolinda.) It’s a pity he 
should waste his affections upon an actress. 

Rolinda. You think so ? 

Singleton. Candidly, 1 do. 

Rolinda. I fear he doesn’t agree with you. 

Singleton. No, he is very young and foolish. 

Rolinda ( sarcastically ). And you are very old and wise. 

Singleton. I, at least, have learnt from to-day’s experience. 
Take my advice, madam ; leave this young man with his mother 
— he is nothing to you. 

Rolinda. Perhaps not ; but his expectations are. 

Singleton. Expectations ! He has none. 

Rolinda. You know nothing about it. 

Singleton. Far more than you do. What does he expect? 
Money ? Where is it to come from ? He has no wealthy 
relatives. 

Rolinda. His mother 

Singleton. Lives comfortably — nothing more. Were she 
wealthy, would she be apt to take boarders ? 




7 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


49 


Bolinda, But he told me he would roll in wealth. 

Singleton. And you believed him ? You, who pride yourself 
upon your acuteness ? Well, I am surprised. 

Bolinda. If he has deceived me 

Singleton interrupting). He has — but it’s your turn. We 
have all been more or less deceived to-day. 

Bolinda {half aside). And I have been wasting my time upon 

Singleton {interrupting). Pauper. But you had a free lunch. 

Bolinda. Bah ! [Exit Rolinda, r. d. 

Singleton {laughing). The tables are turned. {Sits in arm- 
chair, C.) I’ve done Neville Busby a great favor, although I 
have deprived him of a bride. I fear he will not appreciate it, 
(Enter Mrs. B., l. d.) for I have killed his prospects, as well 
as 

Mrs. B. {greatly agitated j interrupting). My son ! Where 
is he ? Tell me ! 

Singleton {rising). In the garden, I believe. 

Mrs. B. Oh, he is not dead ? Speak ! He is not dead ? 

Singleton. I hope not, I’m sure. 

Mrs. B. Oh, you cold-blooded monster ! 

Singleton {surprised). Eh ! 

Mrs. B. You have wounded my son, and left him to die in — 
in warm blood. 

Singleton. No, no, madam ; I had no desire to kill him. 

Mrs. B. Oh, my poor child. [ Bursts into tears. 

Singleton {aside)..' Now, what am I to do with this crying 
female ? {To Mrs. B.) There, there, don’t cry. It is true your 
son said some things he should not have said, but 

Mrs. B. {interrupting). He is impulsive. 

Singleton. Exceedingly so. 

Mrs. B. frying). And so like his father. 

Singleton. I’ve no doubt of it. But I forgave him that, 
and 

Mrs. B. {interrupting). You haven’t killed him ? 

Singleton. Certainly not. 

Mrs. B. Then he is alive ? 

Singleton. Very much so. 

Mrs. B. {sinking into chair , R. of table down L. C.). Oh, what 
joy ! 

Singleton. Precisely. {Aside.) Now is a good opportunity 
to tell her that I resign in Ned’s favor. {To Mrs. B.) I wish 
to speak to you, madam, in regard to my intended marriage with 
your daughter. 

Mrs. B. {starting up). You shall never marry her, sir ! 

Singleton. Good ! I’m glad to hear you say so. The fact 

is, under the circumstances 

4 


50 


A BACHELOR’S DIVORCE. 


Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). It would be most improper. 

Singleton. Just so. 

Mrs. B. You have greatly deceived me. 

Singleton. Have I ? I don’t doubt it. It seems to be the 
correct thing to-day. 

Mrs. B. You have broken my daughter’s heart. 

Singleton. Eh ! 

Mrs. B. You have insulted the name of Busby ! 

Singleton. Oh, you are mistaken ; I honor that name. 

Mrs. B. ( indignantly ). Honor it ! Did you honor it when 
you proposed to my daughter ? 

Singleton. I — I think so. 

Mrs. B. And was your wife nothing ? 

Singleton. Absolutely nothing ; I have no wife. 

Mrs. B. You thought we would not know the truth. 

Singleton. You evidently do not. Who told you this ? 

Mrs. B. (with triumph). My son. 

Singleton. I thought so. Madam, your son has caused a 
great deal of trouble to-day. Not intentionally perhaps, but 
through following what he supposed to be his duty. He is in 
love with — a — an actress. 

Mrs. B. Your cousin ? 

Singleton. She is not my cousin. 

Mrs. B. You said so. 

Singleton. I acknowledge it, but I am not responsible for 
what I may have said to-day, I called her my cousin to — a — 
deceive my nephew. I never saw or heard of her before to-day. 
She came here — as I supposed — to see Ned, and I tried to pre- 
vent a meeting between them. But that was my first mistake ; 
— since then I have made a thousand. In reality, the actress is 
a friend of your son and came to visit him. [ A pause. 

Mrs. B. Mr. Singleton, I — I am afraid I have entertained 
wrong suspicions. 

Singleton (; magnanimously ). Don’t mention it, Mrs. Busby ; 
we have all done that to-day. 

Mrs. B. Can you forgive me, sir ? 

Singleton. With all my heart. 

Mrs. B. You are very kind. 

Singleton. Not at all. (Aside.) She is certainly a very 
attractive woman. (To Mrs. B.) About your daughter — my 
nephew is very much in love with her. 

Mrs. B. Your nephew ! 

Singleton. Yes ; in fact, I understand it is mutual. Now, I 
would like him to act as my substitute. 

Mrs. B. But I had hoped to have you for a son-in-law. 

Singleton. Ned would make a far better one. He shall have 
an ample allowance to support a wife. 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


51 


Mrs. B. But — a 

Singleton {pointedly). I should prefer, Mrs. Busby, to marry 
some woman nearer my own age. 

Mrs. B. {coyly). Have you any woman in view, sir ? 
Singleton. Well — a — yes. 

Mrs. B. Yes ? 

Singleton. Yes. Instead of a son-in-law, could I not fill the 
place of — a 

Enter Neville, d. f. 


Neville. Mother ! 

Mrs. B. {surprised j turns). Oh, my son ! {Throws her arms 
aroutid him.) What anguish I have suffered ! I thought you 
would be killed ! 

Neville. So did I. 

Enter Rolinda, r. d., dressed to leave . 

Neville {to Rolinda). You are not going ? 

Rolinda. Let me pass. 

Neville. No — no ; you must not go ! Do not leave me ! 
{Kneeling.) I beg ! I entreat ! I implore ! You know I 
adore you. 

Rolinda, Nonsense. 

Neville. I know it — but I do. Do not look upon me with 
such scorn. Speak to me ! Say you will share my lot ! 

Rolinda. You have no lot. 

Neville. No, but I shall have lots of lots. 1 am poor, 
but 

Rolinda {interrupting). Poor ! You acknowledge it? 

Singleton. I told you so. 

Rolinda {to Neville). And you dare to make love to me ! 
Get out of the way, you — a — pauper ! 

[ Takes him by one ear j Neville rises. 

Neville. Ouch ! 

Enter Ned and Nell, d. f. 

Nell. That dreadful woman ! 

Rolinda {to Ned). Another pauper ! {Laughs.) Ha-ha-ha! 
This should be made a public institution. 

Neville. Roly, I am 

Rolinda {interrupting). A pauper ! [Exit Rolinda, d. f. 

Neville. Mother, she has left me. 

Singleton. Never mind. You wouldn’t have been happy 
with her. She is unworthy of you. 

Neville {flattered). Think so ? 

Singleton. No doubt of it. {Leads him aside down L.; 


52 


a bachelor’s divorce. 


Mrs. B., Ned and Nell retire up stage.) You’re too young to 
marry. Think of all the good times you would miss. 

Neville. That’s so ; and the boys would miss me. 

Mrs. B. {to Ned and Nell). Yes, I have given my consent 
to your marriage. 

Singleton {aside, to Neville). You had better return to your 
studies. You can manage to enjoy yourself that way, eh ? 

Neville (‘ witiking ). I can try. I will take a course in — a 


Singleton. Treating ? 


[. Hesitates . 


Neville. Just so. [Mrs. B., Ned and Nell come down C. 
Nell. And Mama shall live with us. 

Ned. Well— a 

Singleton. Not if I can prevent it. 

Nell. Why ? 

Singleton. What would become of me ? {To Mrs. B.) Mrs. 
Busby, your daughter is to marry the man of her choice ; your 

son has decided to take an extra course, and now I propose 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). Oh, Mr. Singleton — this is so sud- 
den. ( Throws her arms around him.) But take me — I am 
yours. 

Enter Deb, l. d.; stops , astonished. 

But how’s this ? I thought you were already mar-. 


Neville. 

ried. 

Singleton, 


No, only engaged ; and I have been divorced. 


CURTAIN. 



A Rival by Request 


A Comedy in Three Acts 



A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


CHARACTERS. 

Walter Pierson, a young bachelor. 

WlNTHROP Smythe, his friend. 

Robert Burnett, a retired business man. 

Benjamin Briggs, a retired farmer. 

Lord Albert Anthony McMullin, a friend of Smythe's. 
Alexander Muggins, Smythe's servant . 

Mrs. Burnett, wife of Robert Burnett. 

Margaret Burnett, her daughter. 

Mrs. Briggs, wife of Benjamin Briggs. 

Eliza Briggs, her daughter. 

Mrs. Chatterton, housekeeper of the “ Cosmopole. n 
Costumes modern and appropriate. 



Copyright, 1896, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 



A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


3 


STAGE SETTING. 


Acts I. and II. 



Interior Backing. 


DOOR 

SOFA 

0 


TABLE AND CHAIRS 
ARMCHAIR 0O0 

0 

\ 



Act III. 


Balcony. 


BAV WINDOW 



TABLE AND CHAIRS 

oQo 


Interior Backing. 



SCENES . — Acts I. and II. The Sitting Room of Walter Pierson’s 
apartments in the “ Cosmopole,” New York. 

Act III. The Sitting-room of Walter Pierson’s apart- 
ments in the “ St. George,” New York. 

TIME . — Act /. Morning. Act II. Afternoon. 

Act III \ Morning of the day following. 


































































































- 








































































A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


ACT I. 

Scene. — The sitting-room of Walter Pierson’s apart7>ients 
in “ The Cosmopole ,” New York. Table atid chairs , L. c. ; 
sofa, up R. ; screen between sofa and fireplace , up R. ; 
various pieces of furniture , etc. 

(As the curtain rises, Pierson is heard out c. f making dis- 
cordant sounds upon a cornet. Then voices are heard , becom- 
ing louder and more excited .) 

Enter Walter Pierson, c. d., carrying a cornet in his 
hand, closely followed by Mrs. Chatterton. 

Pierson (excitedly). No — no — no ! I don’t care, I tell you. 
Mrs. C. But, sir, if only you would stop blowing that 
trumpet. 

Pierson. It’s my own trumpet. 

Mrs. C. Then there’s no excuse for your blowing it, sir. 
Pierson. I am learning to play. [ Places the cornet upon 

the table, L. C. 

Mrs. C. Is it possible ? 

Pierson. I have been learning for two years. 

Mrs. C. Well, sir, might I ask how long you think it will take 
to master the art ? Couldn’t you manage to blow just a little 
easier while practising ? 

Pierson. What difference will it make if I blow my brains 
out ? 

Mrs. C. Oh, none at all, sir. 

Pierson. If you object to my playing, I’ll move. 

Mrs. C. Oh, no, no, sir, but 

Pierson ( interrupting ). Yes, I’ll move to some spot where I 
can enjoy my music without interruption. 


5 



6 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Mrs. C. ( entreatingly ). I beg of you, sir, don’t do anything 
rash. 

Pierson. You do not appreciate harmonious melodies. 

Mrs. C. When I hear them, sir, but 

Pierson ( interrupting ). Now that is insulting, Mrs. Chat- 
terton ; positively insulting. I shall certainly move. 

Mrs. C. But this is only the middle of the month, sir. 

Pierson. I have paid you in advance. 

Mrs. C. Yes, I know, but if you 

Pierson {interrupting ; determinedly ). I shall move, Mrs. 
Chatterton. There is no need of further discussion. I have 
spoken. 

Mrs. C. ( tearfully ). Oh, my dear Mr. Pierson, think of the 
great loss I would sustain. Think of Mr. and Mrs. Briggs and 
sweet Miss Eliza 

[Pierson snatches the cornet from the table, L. c., and 
raises it to his 7nouth as if about to blow. Exit Mrs. 
Chatterton, c. d., hurriedly. 

Pierson {placing the cornet upon the table, L. c.). Yes; I’ll 
go to-day. I am glad to have found a good excuse. Why is it 
that people don’t fancy my cornet ? It was a very expensive 
one. There are so few who can really appreciate music. Evi- 
dently Mrs. Chatterton can’t, nor that impudent valet I dis- 
charged yesterday. The idea of his daring to criticise my playing 
and to make suggestions ! Now I am without a servant just at 
a time when I need one the most. Well, I’ll have to do my own 
packing, for I am going to move this very day, that’s settled. 
(, Sitting by the table, L. C.) I wonder what the Briggs family 
will say. Perhaps they will follow me elsewhere as they followed 
me here. ( Vehemently .) Not if I can prevent it. How fear- 
fully tiresome they are — yes, Eliza included, even if I am en- 
gaged to her. She is so coarse ; so boisterous. {Risuig 
dramatically .) Oh, Margaret, Margaret, why were you untrue ? 
Why did you so wound my pride that I was driven to propose to 
a girl I can never love ? How well I remember the day we parted. 
She waved her handkerchief from the steamer’s deck ; I waved 
my hat from the wharf. She shouted : “ Good-bye, Walter ; 
don’t forget me,” and I frantically kissed my hand to her in re- 
turn. {Sighing.) Ah me ! I little thought then our parting was 
to be forever. Five months ago ! How happy I was — poor 
idiot ! Then I read the reports from the society papers. How 
Miss Margaret Burnett was being fgted and worshipped by all 
the sprigs of English nobility ; how her engagement to a young 
lord was to be announced shortly. Is it any wonder that my 
pride was injured, and that in my despair I resolved that'Mar- 
garet should never know how much I really cared ? Is it any 
wonder that I wrote, breaking our engagement ? ( Thought - 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


7 


fully.) And yet, somehow I cannot forget her. The thought 
of a marriage with Eliza Briggs is becoming unendurable. She 
has good looks and plenty of money, but she is so excessively un- 
cultured. Besides, she cares nothing for me. It is the position 
I hold in good society thai she covets. (. Bustling about the 
room and collecting various articles together upon the table , 
L. C.) Bah ! I am heartily weary of the whole family. But I 
must not let them learn of my determination to move. 

[Takes up a pile of articles which he has collected. 

Enter Benjamin Briggs, c. d. 

Briggs. Hello, Walter ! (Pierson starts violently and lets 
fall the articles .) House cleaning ? 

Pierson {embarrassed). Eh! What! No, oh no. I — lam 
just — dusting around a little. 

Briggs. Amusing yourself, eh ? 

Pierson. Yes ; for exercise, you know. 

[Gathers up the articles he dropped. 

Briggs. Of course I do. That’s the way Mrs. Briggs always 
was a-doing — that is to say, afore my brother Joseph died and 
left me his fortune. She’s changed wonderful since then. 

Pierson. Yes, I imagine so. 

Briggs. She never does nothing now but go shopping ; says 
she’s above work, and I reckon she is, ain’t she, now that brother 
Joseph’s departed ? 

Pierson. She certainly appears so. 

Briggs. Of course she does. She’s a wonderful woman, is 
Mrs. Briggs. The kind that’s born to reign. 

[•SzAr in ar7n-chair y R. C. 

Pierson. As her husband, you are in a position to judge. 

Briggs. What’s more, she’s educated. 

Pierson. Is she, though ? 

Briggs. I thought you would be surprised. 

Pierson. I assure you, I would never have imagined it. 

Briggs. Of course you wouldn’t. And she takes to being a 
lady like a duck to water. After all it’s only a question of how 
much cash you’ve got, ain’t it, eh ? 

Pierson. That’s all, [Wearying of the conversation. 

Briggs. I thought so. I’m mighty glad, Walter, you and 
'Liza’s took to each other, because now you can introduce us to 
all your friends, and they’ll learn us how to act in the best 
company. Reckon I can learn them a thing or two, eh ? 

Pierson. A great many things. (Aside.) Imagine intro- 
ducing him to my friends. 

Briggs. By the way, ’Liza said to tell you not to forget your 
engagement. 

Pierson (with dignity ). Does she doubt my faithfulness ? 


8 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Briggs. Oh, no, no. You don’t understand. Wasn’t you 
and her going to the Zoo, or something ? 

Pierson. Yes, but 

Briggs (interrupting). This morning, she said. 

Pierson. I — I can’t go. 

Briggs. Eh ? 

Pierson. I expect to be very busy to-day. 

Briggs {rising). Then you can’t take me back of the scenes 
at the Gaiety to-night ? 

Pierson. No, not to-night. 

Briggs. But you said you would. 

Pierson ( indifferently ). Did I ? 

Briggs. Of course you did. I’ve been waiting for nigh on 
two weeks now and it’s mighty disappointing. When can you 
take me ? 

Pierson ( indifferently ). Oh, any time. 

Briggs. To-morrow night ? 

Pierson. No, not to-morrow. 

Briggs. When ? 

Pierson. Oh — any time. 

Briggs. I — I say. ( Patting PIERSON upon the back.) Ah, 
Waltie, be a good boy, do now. I want to go back of the scenes 
just once. 

Pierson. What for ? 

Briggs. Well — a — if I’m going to act like other gentlemen 
it’s time I began. 

Pierson {aside). That’s rough on other gentlemen. 

Briggs. I want to meet one or two of the girls that do this 
kind ol thing. [ Dances around the stage in imitation of 

a ballet girl. 

Enter Mrs. Briggs, c. d. 

Mrs. B. {seeing Briggs dancing j shocked). Benjamin ! 
You are forgetting yourself. 

Briggs {nervously). Oh, no, no, no, my dear — of course not. 
i — I was just exercising, wasn’t I, Walter ? 

Pierson. Yes, he’s — he’s practising calisthenics. 

Mrs. B. ( with dignity). And may I ask who taught you 
such outrageous movements ? 

Briggs. Why, Walter, of course. 

Pierson. Oh, no, I 

Briggs ( interrupting ). Yes, you did ; you forget. {Aside to 
Pierson.) Help me out, for pity’s sake. {Aloud.) Don’t you 
remember you said you had seen this kind of exercise somewhere ? 

Pierson. Oh yes, yes, — so I have, dozens of times. {To Mrs. 
B.) It’s a new movement, Mrs. Briggs, for the development 
of the — the brain. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


9 


Briggs. Yes, and — and other muscles. 

Mrs. B. I am glad that Mr. Briggs has at last found some- 
thing upon which to exercise his muscular brain. 

Briggs. Oh, now, my dear, you know 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). I know that you have already wasted 
several hours this morning. I remember that you are going 
shopping with me — something you seem to have forgotten. 

Briggs. Of course not, my darling, but 

Mrs. B. (- interrupting ). We have no time for any further 
discussion, Mr. Briggs. 

Briggs. All right, my love. {Bowing.') I bow to the inevitable. 

Mrs. B. ( with dignity). You need not insult me with base 
epithets, sir, even if you have the misfortune of being my hus- 
band. [ Walks up C. ; proud and erect. 

Briggs {aside to Pierson). Didn’t I tell you she was 
educated ? 

Pierson {aside to Briggs). Born to reign, eh ? 

Briggs {aside to Pierson). Yes, and to thunder and light- 
ning too. [Exeunt Briggs and Mrs. Briggs, c. d. 

Pierson. To think tnat they are to be my parents-in-law ! A 
father-in-law, with an overwhelming desire to meet ballet dancers 
and a mother-in-law who is born to command. Oh, I could not 
endure them. {Collecting the articles upon the table into a 
pile and taking them in his arms.) No ; I shall not remain. 
I’ll leave the city and fly to some spot where girls have no 
parents. [Exit Pierson, r. d. A pause. 

Enter Mrs. Chatterton, c. d. 

Mrs. C. {carrying a letter in her hand j calling). Mr. Pier- 
son ! {Looking about the room ; calling agai?i.) Mr. Pierson, 
sir ! He’s not here. Perhaps he has gone to look for another 
boarding-place. I wish I had said nothing about his trumpet 
playing, although I doubt if I could have submitted to the noise 
much longer. Why, it would drive me crazy. {Looking at the 
letter in her hand.) I suppose I had better leave this on the 
table where he will find it. Judging from the number of post- 
marks, it must have travelled all over the world. {Reading the 
address on the letter .) “ Miss Margaret Burnett, Saint Charles 

Hotel, Piccadilly, London, England.” Evidently she never re- 
ceived it. I wonder what he wrote to her about, when he’s so 
attentive to Miss Eliza. Perhaps it’s just as well the letter was 
returned. (Enter Pierson, r. d.) Why, sir, you are in. 

Pierson {with dignity). I did not claim to be out, Mrs. 
Chatterton. 

Mrs. C. No, sir, but 

Pierson {interrupting). Although I shall move to more pleas- 
ant quarters before this day closes. 


IO 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Mrs. C. Now don’t be offended, sir. If I said anything about 
your 

Pierson (interrupting ; with dignity ). You need not repeat 
it, Mrs. Chatterton. 

Mrs. C. Not for the world, sir. I came to bring you this 
letter. [ Gives Pierson the letter . 

Pierson ( looks at the letter and starts). W — why — why — 
what’s this ? 

Mrs. C. (aside). He appears agitated. 

Pierson (aside). It’s the letter I wrote Margaret breaking our 
engagement. (To Mrs. C., excitedly.) How did you get this ? 
Where did it come from ? 

Mrs. C. The postman just brought it, sir. 

Pierson. Then it never reached her ! 

Mrs. C. I imagine not. 

Pierson (delightedly). Oh, I’m so glad ! I’m so glad ! 

Mrs. C. (aside). Evidently he is ashamed to have sent it. 
Pierson (as if to himself). What a fool I was. 

[Puts the letter in his pocket. 
Mrs. C. I don’t doubt it, sir ; but probably you’ve tried to 

improve since then, and 

Pierson (interrupting j sharply). What ! 

Mrs. C. If you’ve repented, tell her all about it, and I feel 
sure she’ll forgive you. 

Pierson. Tell whom ? 

Mrs. C. Miss Eliza Briggs, sir. 

Pierson (angrily). Hang Eliza ! 

Mrs. C. (surprised). Sir! 

Pierson (furiously). Shoot Eliza ! Tar and feather Eliza ! 
Mrs. C. Oh, sir, what frightful language ! 

Pierson. Oh, what a fool I was ! 

Mrs. C. You seem to glory in the fact. 

Pierson. Oh, woman, woman, will you never leave me in peace ? 
Mrs. C. Certainly, sir, I 

Pierson (interrupting). You will drive me to desperation. 

Mrs. C. I don’t wish to disturb you, sir, but if 

[Pierson snatches the cornet from the table and blows it 
noisily j Mrs. C. screams, puts her hands to her ears , 
and runs up C. 

Enter Smythe, c. d. Mrs C. knocks into Smythe in 
her haste, and exit C. D. 

Smythe. For Heaven’s sake, man, stop that frightful noise. 
Pierson. Hello, Win ! 

Smythe. You’ll be arrested for assault and battery. 

Pierson. Evidently you are not fond of music. 

f. Places the cornet upoyi the table, L. C. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


II 


Smythe. Music! Oh, that’s a cornet, isn’t it ? I thought it 
was some instrument of torture. 

Pierson ( sarcastically ). You appear very bright and witty 
this morning. 

Smythe. Do I ? Probably the effects of European travel. 
(Sitting.) By the way, speaking of Europe, I met a young 
English lord while abroad — an awfully interesting chap. You 
would never imagine, from his appearance or actions, that he 
was a nobleman. Why, he is so obliging and anxious to be of 
service that you could impose upon him, and 

Pierson (interrupting). I have no such intention. 

Smythe. No, of course you haven’t. He came over on 
the “ Paris,” arriving yesterday ; and, having my address, he 
called to see me. Poor fellow, he had a very hard time of it on 
the steamer. 

Pierson. The usual difficulty, I suppose. [5 /Vj. 

Smythe. Yes. The pools on the vessel’s daily run were 
very large, and he always bet on the wrong number. He’s 
bankrupt at present. 

Pierson. No doubt that is why he honored you with a call. 

Smythe. Oh, no, no ; his visit was purely platonic. I ad- 
mire Lord McMullin greatly. 

Pierson. Because he is an Englishman, I suppose. 

Smythe. Perhaps. You like foreigners, don’t you ? 

Pierson. Certainly. Am I not an American ? 

Smythe. That settles it ; and I am mighty glad, old man, 
for I want to ask a favor. 

Pierson. He is a stranger to me, Winthrop ; I don’t care to 
lend him anything. 

Smythe. Oh, you misunderstand. What I want is this : 
Lord McMullin has never been in the United States before, and 
I would like to do what I can to entertain him. 

Pierson. Well, why don’t you ? 

Smythe. There’s the difficulty. I have to leave the city at 
noon to-day, and, in all probability, shall not return for a week. 

Pierson. Ah, I see ; you want me to do the entertaining. 

Smythe. Well — I — I don’t wish to trouble you — 

Pierson. Oh, I don’t object to being troubled, 

Smythe. It’s awfully kind in you, old man. But I felt so 
sure of your consent that I gave Lord McMullin a letter of in- 
troduction. Probably he will call to-day. Are you familiar 
with the nobility ? 

Pierson. No. 

Smythe. Then it will be a new and pleasant experience. 
Now I am going to do you a favor. 

Pierson (rising and extending his hand). Oh, don’t be in a 
hurry to go. 


12 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Smythe. No, it’s not that kind of a favor. 

Pierson {aside). I wish it were, for I must begin my pack' 
ing. [. Sits L. C. 

Smythe. Are you still without a man ? 

Pierson. Yes, unfortunately. 

Smythe. I know just the one you want. 

Pierson. Well? 

Smythe. My English valet. 

Pierson. Not the one you imported ? 

Smythe. The same. 

Pierson. Why do you wish to part with him ? 

Smythe. I don’t. But I expect to start for the West next 
week, and don’t care to take him along. He is a first-class 
man, as you know. 

Pierson. From hearsay evidence only. 


I have never seen 


him. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

performer. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 

Pierson. 

Smythe. 


I have given him the best of recommendations. 
Does he attend to his own business ? 

Certainly not. I employ him to attend to mine. 
But does he (, hesitates ) — does he play the cornet ? 
Not a note. 

Good. I detest a man who considers himself a 


Better give Muggins a trial. 

When can he come ? 

This morning, if you wish. 

I do. I need some one to assist me in packing. 
You’re not going on a trip, too ? 

No ; I’m going to move. 

You are, eh ? Why ? 

I have my reasons. 

Oh, I understand. Perhaps, if you sold your cor- 
net, they would let you remain. When do you leave ? 

Pierson. To-day. 

Smythe. Now, that’s fortunate. Why, these apartments 
are just the thing for some friends of mine. 

Pierson. Some more of the English nobility ? 

Smythe. No ; American to the backbone. But I met them 
abroad ; in fact, travelled with them for a while — father, 
mother and daughter. 

Pierson. Evidently you appreciated the daughter. 

Smythe. Who doesn’t ? Miss Burnett is a very fine— — 
Pierson {starting up agitated ). Who ? 

Smythe. Miss Burnett. ( Noticing Pierson’s agitation.) 
What’s the matter ? 

Pierson. Oh, nothing, nothing. What is her first name ? 
Smythe. Margaret. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


13 


Pierson {aside). Margaret Burnett ! 

Smythe. Do you know her ? 

Pierson. No ; oh, no — of course not. Why should I ? 

Smythe. You seem so familiar with the name. 

Pierson. % It’s common enough. 

Smythe. Perhaps ; but it belongs to no ordinary family. 
They are received into the best society everywhere. 

Pierson. Did she — did the daughter receive much attention ? 

Smythe. Wagon loads. 

Pierson {aside). Then those reports were correct. 

Smythe {rising). The European nobility fluttered about her 
like moths around an electric light. 

Pierson {aside; bitterly). And I was forgotten. {To 
Smythe.) I — 1 suppose she — she accepted their attentions ? 

Smythe. No; oh, no. 

Pierson {eagerly). She didn’t ? 

Smythe. She is very different from other American girls. 

Pierson {aside ; enthusiastically). Of course she is. 

Smythe. Besides, I have an idea that she had left her heart 
with some one in this country. 

Pierson {eagerly). You think so ? Why ? 

Smythe. Well, she used to watch for the mails so anxiously, 
and then seem so disappointed when no letter came. 

Pierson. Too bad ! {Grasping Smythe’s hand.) Win- 
throp, you’re a good fellow- — a mighty good fellow. I am very 
glad you called. If I ever can do anything for you — find you a 
wife, or— — 

Enter Eliza, c. d. 

Eliza. Hello, Walt ! 

Pierson {aside). By Jove ! (. Nervously , to Eliza.) Oh, 

good-morning — good-morning. Miss Briggs, allow me to pre- 
sent my friend Mr. Smythe. 

Eliza {shaking Smythe’s hand vigorously). How-de-do ? 
Funny you and I haven’t met before. Reckon I know pretty 
much all of Walt’s friends. But I ought to, eh ? 

Smythe. Certainly, you should. 

Pierson {aside to Eliza). For Heaven’s sake, don’t tell him 
we are engaged. 

Eliza {aside to Pierson). Why not ? 

Pierson {aside to Eliza). It will ruin me, if you do. I — I 
will explain another time. 

Smythe {to Pierson). Well, old man, I must be going. 

Eliza. So must we. Walt and I are going to the Zoo. 

Smythe. Are you, indeed ? 

Pierson. No; we are not. 

. Eliza. Eh ? 

Pierson. I — I am sorry, but I can’t go to-day. 


14 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Eliza. Now, don’t be horrid, Walt. 

Smythe. You will be busy moving, I suppose. 

Eliza. Moving ? 

Smythe. Yes ; didn’t you 

Pierson {interrupting j very nervously ). He — he means — 
that is, you know — I — I expect to — to move the furniture around 
a little — to change the positions of — of various articles, you 
know. Now, what is your opinion : don’t you think the — this 
chair ( designates chair , L.) would look better on the other side 
of the room ? {Aside to Smythe ; fiercely .) Don’t tell her 
that I am going to move or I’ll — I’ll blow out your brains. 

[Moves chair to R.; Smythe is frightened and hurriedly 
runs to table , L. c., and , snatching up cornet , hides it 
behind him. 

Eliza {aside). They seem excited about something. 

Smythe {aside). 1 wonder what makes him so ferocious. 

[Hides the cornet under the table. 

Pierson {to Eliza). Yes, I agree with you; the table is in 
the way where it is ; that’s why I am going to move it, you 
know — like a spiritualist. {Laughs weakly.) Ha, ha, ha ! 
Perhaps — perhaps Mr. Smythe will accompany you. 

Smythe. Certainly. 

Eliza {eagerly). Will you, really ? 

Smythe {magnanimously). As far as the corner. 

Eliza {disappointed). Oh ! {Pouting.) But I want to go to 
the Zoo. 

Smythe. I — I shall be very busy to-day, also. 

Eliza {sarcastically). Are you going to move your furniture ? 

Smythe. No ; I’m going to — to move myself. {Gouig up 
C.; to Pierson.) I will stop around home, Walter, and tell 
Muggins to come see you. 

Pierson. All right. Send him immediately. 

Smythe {to Eliza). Good-morning, Miss Briggs. 

Eliza. I am going to accompany you. 

Smythe. But — I — I [Business. 

Eliza. No further than the corner, I assure you. 

[ Walks stiffly up c. Exeunt Eliza and 
Smythe, c. d. 

Pierson. Now, she has gone off in a temper. I wish I could 
make her so furious that she would never speak to me again. 
What am I to do ? Practically, I am engaged to two girls. 
It’s the first step toward bigamy. I can’t break my engage- 
ment with Eliza, for she would sue me for breach of promise, 
and I don’t want to break with Margaret. {Sitting by table , L. 
C.) I wonder, should 1 commit a crime, if Eliza would refuse to 
marry me ? I fear not. She would think she saw a good 
opportunity to become famous as the bride of a criminal. Be- 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


*5 


sides, should I transgress against the law, it would ruin my 
chances with Margaret. What in the deuce is to be done ? If 
only I had a rival — some one I could use as a substitute in love. 
If only some idiot would fall in love with Eliza or her money. 

( Thoughtfully .) If I could persuade some one ( Struck 

with an idea.) By Jove ! Why didn’t I think of that before ? 
Yes, it’s the very thing — the only thing that can save me. She 
is young, pretty and wealthy. He is also youthful and unso- 
phisticated, but a member of the nobility. Eliza is anxious to 
marry into society, while this young lord doubtless desires to 
marry into a fortune. English society — American millions. 
{Rising.) Why, it will be a marvel if they do not fall in love at 
first sight. ( Taking off his coat and putting it on a chair. 
Gathering up the articles from about the room.) But I must 
get to work if I want to have everything ready by this afternoon. 

\Takes a pile of the articles in his arms and 
goes toward R. D. 

Enter Muggins, c. d. 

Muggins. Mornin’, sir. 

Pierson. Ah ! you come from Mr. Smythe ? 

Muggins. Yes, sir. 

Pierson. Very well. I will be here presently, 

[Exit Pierson, r. d. 

Muggins ( looking after Pierson). Will his clothes fit me, I 
wonder ? Mr. Smythe’s suits were just built for me. I don’t 
believe as this here outfit was wore more than a dozen times. 
It’s as good as brand new. Why, he dressed me up like a reg- 
’lar gent, an’ them as didn’t know me took me for one. After 
all it’s the kind of rig a man wears as makes him worth the 
knowin’. {Sitting L. c.) What’s the difference between me an’ 
that young sprig of nobility that called on Mr. Smythe yesterday 
when he was a-writin’ my recommendation ? None, as I knows 
on, exceptin’ that his name has a head an’ tail to it. It ain’t got 
no more body than mine. By the way, what did I do with that 
recommendation ? {Searching through his pockets.) I might 
need it, though my looks ought to be convincin’. Ah, here it is. 
{Draws a letter from his pocket and reads the address.) “Mr, 
Walter Pierson.” Eh ! Mr. Smythe didn’t tell me nothin’ 
about cornin’ here yesterday when he wrote this. I wonder 
what he said. {Draws the letter from the envelope and reads.') 
“ My Dear Walt : This will serve to introduce my friend Lord 

A1 ” {Rising.) Eh ! W — w — what’s this ! {Reading.) 

“ My friend Lord Albert Anthony McMullin.” Well, I’ll be 
blowed ! There’s a mighty big mistake somewhere, but it ain’t 
hone of mine. Mr. Smythe gave me this, I’m sure of it. 
{Laughing.) Ha-ha-ha ! So I’m Lord McMullin, am I ? I 
never knowed afore how it felt to be a real live lord. After all, 


i6 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


it ain’t so different from what one’s used to. I wonder if Mr. 
Pierson would take me for a member of the nobility ? I’ve a 
mind to try it. Lord McMullin! Why not? I’m thinkin’ I 
could be more of a honor to the name than the man who owns 
it. [ Puts the letter in his pocket. 

Enter Pierson, r. d. 

Pierson. I am very busy to-day packing to move, 

[i Collecting together various articles about the room. 

Muggins. I should imagine so, sir. 

Pierson. Mr. Smythe informed you of the fact, I presume. 

Muggins. No, sir, he just said 

Pierson ( interrupting ). You have your recommendation 
with you ? 

Muggins. Well — a — I — I have a letter, sir. ( Hesitatingly 
takes the letter from his pocket j aside.) I’m most afeared to 
give it to him. 

Pierson. It is scarcely necessary to read it. 

Muggins. No, sir. [ Goes as if to return the letter to 

his pocket. 

Pierson. But for the mere form’s sake 

[ Takes the letter. 

Muggins (aside). Now, am I a lord or a lackey ? 

Pierson (after reading a few lutes of the letter). Why ! Is 
it possible ! Lord McMullin ! 

[. Snatches up his coat and hurriedly puts it on. 

Muggins (aside). Dog me cats ! I’m a lord. 

Pierson. I hope you will pardon me, sir. It was a very 
stupid mistake. 

Muggins. A very natural one. (Aside.) If I’m a aristocrat, 
I better had to try to act like one. 

Pierson. But what an ass you must think me. 

Muggins (magnanimously). Oh, not at all, not at all. 
Since it is you, I think nothing of it, don’t you know. 

Pierson. Pray be seated. (They sit ; a slight pause?) You 
find me in a very unsociable condition, your lordship. 

Muggins. I think you said you was — a — a — you were moving. 

Pierson. Yes, all my plans are very movable at present. 
Pardon me, but may I ask your proper name ? 

Muggins. Eh! My name ? (Aside.) By Jingo ! If I ain’t 
forgot what that lord called himself. 

Pierson. I mean your title. 

Muggins (perplexed ). Sir ! 

Pierson. Sir ? Then you are a knight ? 

Muggins. I — I suppose so. 

Pierson. A Bath Knight ? 

Muggins. You mean, have I a bath night ? 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


1 7 


Pierson. No, no ; you misunderstand. 

Muggins. Probably so. (Aside.) I ain’t used to no such 
leadin’ questions. He’ll be askin’ me if I use soap next. 

Pierson (aside). He doesn’t appear very brilliant. Perhaps 
I had better change the subject. (To Muggins.) Mr. Smythe 
is so sorry to be away while you are in the city. 

Muggins (aside). I’m mighty glad he is. 

Pierson. He spoke in the highest terms of your cordial hos- 
pitality toward him while abroad. 

Muggins. Ah ! Really ! But it was I who should be in- 
debted. I am always pleased to entertain my friends, don’t you 
know. 

Pierson (aside). He seems like a very pleasant fellow. He 
and Eliza will get along famously. 

Muggins (aside). I wonder what he is a-goin’ to ask me next ? 

Pierson. By the way, my lord, do you believe in love at first 
sight ? 

Muggins. That depends upon whether the girl has money. 

Pierson (quickly). Oh, she has — I — I mean, of course it 
does. (Aside.) Evidently Eliza will prove a drawing card. 
(To Muggins.) Have you met any of our American girls ? 

Muggins. Not yet. Y — you see I 

Pierson (interrupting). You have had no opportunity of 
course. But you shall. I know a young lady who will just — 
just break your heart. 

Muggins ( interested ). You don’t say ! 

Pierson {rising). She is beautiful ; she is educated ; tal- 
ented ; a brilliant conversationalist ; and, above all, she is as 
rich as cream. 

Muggins (with a long whistle). Whew ! A beauty ? 
(Suddenly recollecting.) Ah ! Indeed ! 

Pierson. Yes. 

Muggins. With a fortune ? 

Pierson. Yes. 

Muggins. And she is not married ? 

Pierson. Not yet. 

Muggins. Dear me ! What’s the obstacle ? 

Pierson. There is none. 

Muggins. Then what’s the matter with the men ? 

Pierson. Nothing whatever. 

Muggins (aside). Something’s wrong. 

Pierson. You see it’s this way. Although she has many 
admirers, she considers herself very different from other young 
ladies in good society, as in fact she is ; and so great is her de- 
sire to move in the highest circles, she has vowed never to wed 
unless wooed by a member of the nobility. (Pointedly.) You 
understand ? 


2 


i8 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Muggins. I — I think I do. 

Pierson. Now, if some English lord (Muggins rises), young 
and handsome (Muggins folds his arms complacently and 
stands erect), should meet this young lady, don’t you see there 
would be a mutual magnetism ? 

Muggins. Ah, yes. Precisely. 

Pierson. They would fall in love. 

Muggins. Are you quite sure ? 

Pierson. Quite. You must remember that she is wealthy 
and beautiful, and he is a titled nobleman. Now, should I 
bring about an introduction 

Muggins ( inter r up tmg ). But suppose some other gentleman 
has first claim ? 

Pierson. Jump it. 

Muggins. Well, I am not much of an athlete, don’t you 
know, but I’ll do my best. 

Pierson. It’s a bargain ? 

Muggins. Y es. 

Pierson ( extendhig his hand). Put it there. {Aside.) 
What a very agreeable man he is ! {They shake hands. 

Muggins {aside). Where is this goin’ to end ? 

Pierson. Think of taking home a flower of the Occident — an 
American Bride Rose. 

Muggins. A rose with a fortune. 

Pierson. Precisely. A flower of many scents. You can’t 
imagine, my lord, what a weight you have lifted. I — I mean 
what a relief it is to know — to — to know that the fragrance of at 
least one of our choicest blossoms will not be wasted. While 
you remain in the city you must be my guest. 

Muggins {surprised). Eh ? * 

Pierson. You won’t refuse ? 

Muggins. Oh, no, I won’t refuse. 

Pierson. It is true I expect to move from here, but I am 
going to “The Saint George,” only a short block away, and I 
think you will be satisfied with the acccommodations there. 

Muggins {aside)* Where will this end ? 

Pierson. And now, if you will allow me, I will beg a few 
hours in which to complete my packing. 

Muggins. Permit me to assist you. 

Pierson. Oh, 1 could not dream of it. 

Muggins. But I shall be delighted, I’m sure. {Aside.) I 
want to earn my board. 

Pierson. If you insist, I shall be charmed to enjoy your con- 
versation, which certainly should prove most laborious to you. 
My parlors are to the right. {Bowing low .) After your lordship. 

Muggins {aside). Oh, where will this end ? 

[Exeunt Pierson and Muggins, r. d. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


19 


Enter Briggs, c. d., hurriedly j a slight pause. 

Briggs ( looking around the room ; calling ). Walter! Wal- 
ter ! He must have went out. Too bad ! After sneaking off 
and leaving Susan at the bargain counter, a-purpose to come 
here and learn when I’m a-going to the theatre. Susan won’t 
miss me as long as there is a yard of ribbon left. I can tell her 
we was separated in the crowd, and that, not finding her, I 
come home. A bargain counter ain’t no place for a man no- 
how, unless he’s on the store side, and then he ought to be a 
angel. Well, 1 reckon, since Walter ain’t in, I better had be 
a-going, for I wouldn’t want Susan to find me here. ( Goes up 
C.; looking out c. D. and seeing Mrs. B. approaching.) Great 
Punk ! Mad as a hornet, too. 

\Runs around the room distractedly ; drops his handker- 
chief, and makes a dive under the table , the cover of 
which comes almost to the floor. 

Enter Mrs. Briggs, c. t >. 


Mrs. B .{calling). Mr. Briggs ! Benjamin! (A pause.) He 
isn’t here. The idea of his leaving me among that crowd of 
quarrelling humanity ! ( Taking up Briggs’ handkerchief.) 

Ah! what’s this! His handkerchief! ( Calling .) Walter! 
(A pause.) Walter ! Perhaps they have gone out together. I 
wonder why he comes here so continually. Perhaps — perhaps 
Walter is teaching him to play the cornet. Horrible thought ! 
He would drive me crazy. The detestable music of that brazen 

instrument would (Briggs sticks out the cornet from 

under the tablecloth and blows it noisily ; Mrs. B. starts and 
screams.) Oh! my head ! {Calls.) Walter ! 

Enter Pierson, r. d., hurriedly. 


Mrs. B. {angrily). How dare you, sir ! How dare you take 
such a miserable advantage of an unprotected female ! 

Pierson {surprised). Madam, I — I 

Mrs. B. {interrupting). Where’s my husband ? 

Pierson. I’m not your husband’s keeper. 

Mrs. B. {unreasonably). You are— you know you are. You 
are keeping him from his home and his fireside companion. 
Pierson. 

Mrs. B. 
the cornet. 

Pierson. 

Mrs. B. 

Pierson. 


Nothing could persuade me 
You are teaching him to make hideous sounds upon 


Oh, you are mistaken. 

But I heard him playing exercises. 

You did ? That’s a sure proof that I am not his 
teacher. {Proudly.) I never play exercises. 

Mrs. B. But I heard him here just now. 


20 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Pierson. Oh, no. 

Mrs. B. ( disagreeably ). Oh, yes. No one else could make 
such a frightful noise. 

Pierson. But it is impossible. 

Mrs. B. Young man, nothing annoying or disagreeable is 
impossible with Mr. Briggs. I heard him here. I know' it. 
Besides, I have found his handkerchief. He is in that room. 

[ Points R. D. 

Pierson. Pardon me — he is not there. 

Mrs. B. But I say he is. 

Pierson. And again I must contradict you. 

Mrs. B. Do you swear that 

Pierson {interrupting ; with dignity'). Madam, I never use 
profanity. 

Mrs. B. There is no one in there ? [Points R. D. 

Pierson. Yes, a gentleman. 

Mrs. B. A gentleman ? Then where have you concealed 
my husband ? You are deceiving me. [Goes toward R. D. 

Pierson {stepping before her). Stop ! 

Mrs. B. {determinedly). I shall make a search. 

Pierson. Stop, I say ! You know not what you are about. 
Do you wish to create a scandal ? 

Mrs. B. {going toward R. d.). I wish to find 

Pierson {interrupting). You must not — you shall not enter 
that room. Go seek your husband in the wilds of Timbuctoo. 
He is not here. 

[Exit Pierson, r. d., slamming the door after him. 

Mrs. B. Such impudence ! If he were not engaged to 
Eliza ! But I’ll have revenge when he is my son-in-law. And 
that man — wait until we meet again. If he were not my hus- 
band, I would get a divorce on the plea of desertion. But wait 
until we meet — wait until we meet ! [Exit Mrs. Briggs, C. d. 

Briggs {sticks out his head fro7ii under the table and looks 
around cautiously). She has gone. {Coming out from imder 
the table.) “Wait until we meet.” I’ll try. I’d like to wait a 
million years. I wonder what 1 better had do ? I’m afeared 
to go home, and I’m afeared not to. {Thoughtfully .) If I only 
could. Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll pretend I’m sick, and hire some one 
to carry me upstairs to our rooms. Then Susan will have to be 
agreeable even if it ain’t her nature. 

Enter Lord McMullin, c. d. 

McMullin. Beg pardon, but is Mr. Pierson at home ? 

Briggs. I believe he is, young man. Want to see him ? 

McMullin. I— I think so. 

Briggs. I don’t know as he wants to see you, though. He’s 
mighty busy to-day. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


21 


McMullin. Too bad, don’t you know. 

Briggs. Of course I do. Perhaps you better had call 
again. 

McMullin ( taking a card-case from his pocket ). I’ll leave 
my card. 

Briggs. All right. 

McMullin ( gives Briggs a card , and he puts it in his 
pocket). I — I say. Th — that is for Mr. Pierson. 

Briggs. I’ll give it to him. 

McMullin. Awfully sorry not to see him, don’t you know. 

Briggs. Of course you are. 


Enter Eliza, c. d. 


Eliza. Say, dad 

[Stops upon seeing McMullin, and they look at each 
other embarrassed. 

McMullin (aside). What an awfully charming girl ! 

Eliza (aside to Briggs). Say, who is your friend ? 

Briggs (aside to Eliza). He ain’t my friend. 

Eliza (aside to Briggs). Introduce me. 

Briggs ( aside to Eliza). I don’t know him. 

McMullin (aside). She is really most attractive. 

Briggs (aside to Eliza). Have you seen your ma lately ? 
Eh ? 


Eliza (aside to Briggs). Yes, and she’s after your life. 

Briggs (aside to Eliza). But I’m sick. 

Eliza (aside to Briggs). Ma will cure you. 

[Exit Briggs, c. d. Eliza follows him up , casting 
sheep's eyes at McMullin. Drops her handkerchief. 

McMullin. I— I beg pardon. 

[Eliza stops ; McMullin picks up her handkerchief \ 
and , with a bow, gives it to her. 

Eliza. Oh, thank you so much. [Lets her handkerchief 

fall again. 

McMullin. Allow me. [Picks up the handkerchief again 

and gives it to her. 

Eliza. You are very kind. 

McMullin (with a low bow). To myself— I — I should say— 
that is, you know — I — I mean. (Aside.) I wonder what in the 
deuce I do mean. 

Eliza (aside). He is simply fascinating. 

[Goes up C., casting glances at McMullin. 

Exit Eliza, c. d. 

McMullin. By Jove ! Is it possible that, after following 
Margaret Burnett all the way from England to this heathenish 
country, I am going to fall in love with another girl at first 
sight ? ’ ( Sitting by table , L. C.) I wonder if she is wealthy. 


22 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


That is an item to be considered just at present, for the state of 
my exchequer is decidedly below high-water mark. ( Taking 
eyeglass from his eye and carelessly placing hand on table.) 
Yet, even if her face be her only fortune, I think possibly I 
could love her. 

Enter Pierson, r. d. 

Pierson ( with a pair of shoes i?i his hand; to McMullin, 
questioningly). Well, sir ? 

McMullin { rises in embarrassment and leaves eyeglass on 
table). I — I beg pardon, but is this Mr. Pierson ? 

Pierson. Yes. 

McMullin. I — 1 come from Mr. Smythe. 

Pierson {sharply). Oh, you do, do you ? Well, this is a nice 
time of day to be wandering in. 

McMullin ( surprised ). I — I beg pardon. 

Pierson ( puts shoes upon table , l. c.). I have been expect- 
ing you an hour or more. 

McMullin. Really ? I hastened here as early as permis- 
sible. 

Pierson. Well, you were deuced slow about it. 

McMullin {aside). This reception is certainly remarkable. 
{To Pierson.) I bear a letter from Mr. Smythe ; a letter of 

Pierson ( interrupting ). Never mind the letter ; that’s un- 
necessary. What I need is some one to help me in packing. 

McMullin ( surprised ). Help you in packing ? 

Pierson. Yes. Mr. Smythe said you could not remain with 
him, as he expected to leave town to-day. He told me that you 
are a man, willing and able to do anything. Now I am going 
to move this afternoon. Do you wish to come and help me ? 

McMullin {hesitating). Well, really — I do not know 

Pierson ( interrupting ). Oh, you are not obliged to come. 

McMullin. I — I shall be delighted, I’m sure, but 

Pierson {interrupting). Very well, then ; that’s settled. 
Now suppose you run downstairs and tell the porter my trunks 
will be ready at four o’clock. 

McMullin {with dignity). You wish me to carry a message 
to a porter ? 

Pierson. That’s what I said, and don’t be all day about it, 
either. 

McMullin {aside). The idea ! 

Pierson. Hurry up now. You’ll find him in the lower hall 
{taking shoes from table , L. c.), and just ask him to shine these 
shoes, will you ? [ Holds out shoes to him. 

McMullin. I— I beg 

Pierson {interrupting and forcing the shoes into his hands). 
Don’t stand there like a wooden man. Come — out this door ; 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


23 


it leads to the back stairs. {Leads him toward L. 1 E. ; Mc- 
Mullin gesticulates and attempts to refuse. Enter Muggins, 
r. D.) I have no time for argument. While you remain with 
me, I expect you to make yourself of some use. Make haste ! 

[ Pushes McMullin, l. Exit McMullin with 
Pierson, l. i e. 

Muggins ( approaching table , l. c.). Dog me cats ! If he 
ain’t took that young lord for Mr. Smythe's valet. {Laughing.') 
Ha-ha-ha ! {Seeing McMullin’s eyeglass on the table.) 
Hello ! What’s this ? It must be Lord McMullin’s. If that’s 
the case it must be mine. [Puts the eyeglass in his eye. 

Enter Pierson, l. d. 

Pierson. That fellow seems to consider himself above his 
position. {Seeing Muggins.) Ah ! my lord ! 

Muggins. Can I be of any further service ? 

Pierson. You are very kind, but I could not think of troub- 
ling you. You must be weary. 

Muggins. No ; oh, no. 

Pierson. Suppose you retire to my boudoir and enjoy a little 
siesta. 

Muggins. Just as you wish. 

Pierson. Pardon me ; it is just as your lordship wishes. 

Muggins ( hesitating ). Well, then 

Pierson {interrupting). I was confident that you felt some- 
what weary. 

Muggins {aside). This is a more easier way to get a honest 
livin’ than keepin’ a toll gate. [Exeunt Pierson and Mug- 

gins, l. 2 E. 

Enter Mrs. Chatterton and Burnett, c. d., followed 
by Mrs. Burnett and Margaret Burnett. 

Mrs. C. These are the rooms, sir. Two to the right and 
one to the left, besides this one. 

Mrs. Burn. Have you — is there plenty of fresh air ? 

Mrs. C. Always light and airy, ma’am, even when closed for 
the night. 

Mrs. Burn. And there is no dampness ? 

Mrs. C. Not a particle, ma’am. 

Burnett. Dampness might be an advantage in case of a fire. 

Mrs. Burn, {timidly). Fire ? {To Mrs. C.) Have you ever 
had a fire ? 

Mrs. C. Often, ma’am. 

Mrs. Burn. Oh ! 

Mrs. C. Every cool day I have one made in the grate. Mr. 
Pierson is so particular. 

Margaret {eagerly). Mr. Pierson ! 


24 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Burnett {severely). Margaret, you are positively ridiculous 

Mrs. Burn. But, husband dear, think of the poor giri’s 
lacerated heart. 

Burnett. Lacerated rubbish ! Has she no pride ? She 
should try to forget the past ; but, no ! her thoughts are so 
filled with the one subject, she imagines that every name she 
hears belongs to that rascal who 

Margaret ( interrupting ). Father ! 

Burnett ( repenting his anger). There, there, daughter ; I 
did not intend to hurt your feelings. But, but — well, wait until 
I find him, that’s all. 

Mrs. Burn, {aside to Margaret). I am sure your father did 
not mean to be unkind, my love. [Mrs. Burnett and Mar- 
garet retire up R. 

Mrs. C. {aside). Evidently this family has undergone some 
great trouble. 

Burnett {to Mrs. C.). You say there are two rooms to the 
right ? 

Mrs. C. Yes, sir ; would you like to see them ? 

Mrs. Burn, {coming down c.). It will be best, I think. {To 
Burnett.) Don’t you, my darling ? 

Mrs. C. Certainly, ma’am. [ They all move toward R. D. 

Mrs. Burn, {to Margaret). My child, I think you had 
better remain in this room. It might not be considered en- 
tirely proper for a young girl to investigage a gentleman’s 
private apartments. 

Margaret. Very well, mamma. 

[Exeunt Burnett, Mrs. Burnett and Mrs. C„ r. d. 

Margaret. Pierson ! That was the name she mentioned. 
I am sure of it. Can it be ? No ! Probably it is only a coinci- 
dence. At any rate, why should I care when he has entirely 
forgotten me ? {Sits on sofa up R.) His ceasing to correspond 
was a proof that he no longer cared for me. Papa is right ; I 
make myself ridiculous ; and yet 

Enter Pierson, l. 2 e. Margaret utters an exclamation 
and rises. 

Pierson ( greatly surprised). Margaret ! 

Margaret ( regaining her self-possession). Sir ! 

Pierson 1 beseechingly ). Oh, do not be severe ; it was all a 
mistake. Forgive me, I beseech you. 

Margaret {severely). I do not understand you, sir. 

Pierson. But I can explain everything. I am not to blame. 

Margaret. Surely I am not. 

Pierson. No, no ; it was entirely owing to an unfortunate 
set of circumstances. 

Margaret. But — but why did you not write ? 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


25 


Pierson. I did. 

Margaret. I received no letter after the middle of July. 

Pierson. I know it ; and I am so glad. 

Margaret. Glad ! You need not insult me, sir. 

Pierson. Oh, you do not understand. Let me explain, I en- 
treat you. Come — I will sit beside you on the sofa and 

Margaret ( interrupting ). No, I think you had better re- 
main at a distance until — until [. Hesitates . 

Pierson. Until I prove my excuses ? 

Margaret. Y es — if you can prove them. [Sits upon sofa uf R. 

Pierson. lean — I am sure of it. You know how I loved, 
how I worshipped you ; but — but — when I read in the papers 
that you were receiving the attentions of a young English lord, 
I was madly jealous and believed that you had entirely forgotten 


Margaret. You should have trusted me. 

Pierson. I realize that now, and I have been greatly pun- 
ished. I wrote you a long letter 

Margaret ( interrupting ). It never reached me. 

Pierson. No, for it was returned this morning, after follow' 
ing you all over the Continent. 

Margaret. But why did you not write again ? 

Pierson. Because I thought you had received my letter, and 
did not intend to reply. 

Margaret. And I ceased writing because I did not hear from 
you. 

Pierson. You see, it was not my fault. 

Margaret ( hesitating ). No, perhaps not. 

Pierson {eagerly). You will forgive me ? 

[Approaches sofa , l 

Margaret. Well 

Pierson ( sees Eliza out c. d. ; aside). By Jove ! Eliza is 
coming. What can I do to prevent them from meeting ? 

[Snatches up the screen and places it between Margaret, 
who is on the sofa up R., and the door C. 

Margaret {half rising). What is the matter ? 

Pierson {nervously). Oh, nothing, nothing. Don’t move ; 
please don’t. I — I merely wish to — to shield you — from the 
draught. 

Enter Eliza, c. d. ; she cannot see Margaret. 

Pierson {to Eliza). How are you? How do you do ? You 
must excuse me ; lam very busy. 


Enter Muggins, l. 2 e. He appears as if having just arisen 
from a nap. His cravat is off and vest unbuttoned and he 
is putting on his coat. Stops embarrassed upon seeing 
Eliza. 


26 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Pierson ( seeing Muggins ; aside). Ah ! I’m saved ! (To 
Eliza.) Miss Briggs, allow me to present my friend Lord Mc- 
Mullin, of England. 

Eliza (delighted). Lord McMullin ! 

[Margaret, upon hearing McMullin’s name , utters a 
suppressed scream , and Pierson springs to her side on 
the sofa ; Eliza and Muggins bow low to each other , 
and Muggins offers his arm. Eliza takes it and they 
walk out C. D. This action must be very fast. 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, r. d. They behold Pierson 
and Margaret in each other's arms upon the sofa up R. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT II. 

Scene. — The same as in Act I. Pierson is discovered kneel- 
ing by a trunk up L. C. ; McMullin stands beside him with 
his arms filled with various articles , which he hands to 
Pierson. 

Pierson (putting the last article in the trunk and rising). 
There, that is everything, I think, except my shoes. I’ll pack 
this pair I have on, and wear the ones you took downstairs to 
be cleaned. You go get them while I put on my slippers. 

[Exit Pierson, l. 2 e. 
McMullin. I — I declare I can’t endure this treatment much 
longer. He acts as if I were — a — a — a lackey. It is not that I 
object to assisting him as his guest, but one would imagine me 
to be a mere slave. Really his entertainment is most peculiar. 
I have been running errands and packing trunks ever since I 
arrived. I can’t say that I enjoy it, but I must endure it awhile, 
I suppose, for it is only as his guest that I can be associated 
with that charming Miss Briggs. (Sitting by table L. c.; sigh- 
ing.) Ah, me ! My heart has been deeply pierced by Cupid’s 
dart. Her face, her voice, her shy and bashful manner — they 
enchant me. If I can but win her for my bride. 

Enter Pierson l. 2 e., wearing slippers and carrying 
a pair of shoes. 

Pierson (seeing McMullin sitting). Well, well, well ! 
What are you doing sitting there ? 

McMullin. N — nothing. 

Pierson. Nothing ? Evidently you have had plenty of prac- 
tice somewhere, for you do it entirely too well. Run down- 
stairs and get my shoes immediately. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


2 7 


McMullin {rising). Y — you — you want me to 

Pierson ( interrupting ). You heard what I said. 

McMullin (going l. ; aside). He is the most eccentric char- 
acter I ever met. [Exit McMullin, l. i e. 

Pierson. He is the most useless servant I ever saw. I 
wouldn’t keep him a second if I knew of any one else. I be- 
lieve Smythe was trying to play a joke upon me. ( Places the 
shoes he is carrying in the trunk.) I wonder if my plan to 
marry Eliza to that young lord is going to succeed. I suppose 
they are still wandering around in the Zoological Gardens. I 
wish they would be caged and kept there. Then all my difficul- 
ties would be satisfactorily arranged. (Busies himself with 
trunk.) I hope I shall be left in peace for an hour or two, at least 
until I finish packing and send off my trunks. If Eliza discov- 
ers that I am moving, the consequences might prove disastrous. 
But there is no danger of a discovery, unless Lord McMullin 
forgets my instructions and tells her. And now there is another 
difficulty. I am in fear and trembling whenever the Briggs 
family and the Burnetts met. If one of the parents should men- 
tion to the other my engagement to either of the daughters, the 
family feud that would follow would be something terrible, and 
a price would be placed upon my head. (Looking out C. D. 
and seeing Eliza and Muggins coming.) By Jove ! 

[Slams down the lid of the trunk ; sits upon it and 
whistles unconcernedly. 

Enter Eliza and Muggins, c. d. 

Eliza. Walt! 

Pierson (as if surprised to see them). Why, you are not 
back already ? 

Eliza. Yes ; I’m tired. [ Throws herself into a chair up L. 

Pierson. Of the animals ? 

Eliza. Of everything. 

Pierson (aside). I wish that included me. 

Muggins. I never seen (recollecting) — saw — saw — I never 
saw so many snakes before. (Aside.) Except once. 

Eliza (aside to Pierson). His language at times is some- 
thing terrific. 

Pierson (aside to Eliza). Oh, that’s English, you know. 

Eliza (suspiciously). Whose trunk is that ? 

Pierson ( innocently ). Trunk ? What trunk ? 

Eliza. The one you’re sitting on. 

Pierson. Sitting on ? (Rising.) Why, it does look like a 
trunk, doesn’t it ? I hadn’t noticed it before. 

Eliza. Whose is it ? 

Pierson. I— I really can’t say. Perhaps— yes, it must be 
Lord McMullin’s. 


28 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Muggins. Eh ! 

Pierson ( aside to Muggins). For Heaven’s sake, agree with me. 

Muggins. Oh, yes, yes — that’s a piece of my — my luggage, 
don’t you know. 

Eliza {to Pierson). Have you finished moving ? 

Pierson. Y — you mean my furniture, of course ? 

Eliza. Yes. 

Pierson. Very nearly. 

Eliza. Then you can go with 

Pierson ( interrupthig ). Oh, no, no ; I can’t go anywhere. 
I — I have to — to move this trunk away from here and — and 
— oh, there’s lots of work to be done. 

Eliza. But I wanted you to go 

Pierson ( interrupting ). But I can't go. You see that I am 
very busy. 

Eliza. Then I’ll stay and assist you. 

Pierson. No, thanks ; I prefer to do it alone. Lord McMul- 
lin will accompany you wherever you wish to go. {To Mug- 
gins.) Won’t you, your Excellency ? 

Muggins. Of course ; that was our bargain. 

Eliza. Bargain ? 

Pierson (i nervously ). H — he means — that — that 

[ Hesitates . 

Muggins. Yes, that’s what I mean. 

Pierson. Of course. 

Muggins. Just so. 

Pierson. Precisely. 

Eliza {aside). Both of them are talking nonsense. (Enter 
Briggs, c. d. To Briggs.) Why, dad, I thought you were 
sick. 

Briggs. So I was — very sick. 

Pierson. I am glad that you have recovered. 

Briggs. Well, you see, Mrs. Briggs went out, and I needed 
a change of air. 

Eliza. Ma hasn’t gone ? 

Briggs. What better proof do you want than my being here ? 

Eliza. But she promised to wait for me. 

Briggs. You’ll find her at Jones’s bargain counter, I reckon. 

Eliza. I must go immediately. [ Goes up c. 

Pierson. By all means ; it is an opportunity not to be lost. 
(Exit Eliza, c. d. To Muggins ; aside.) You had better ac- 
company her, my lord. 

Muggins {aside to Pierson). Yes, it’s an opportunity not to 
be lost. [Exit Muggins, c. d. 

Briggs. Do you know, Walter, you’re a mighty lucky man ? 

[ Sitting R. c. 

Pierson. Ami? 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 29 

Briggs. Of course you are. The girl you’re going to marry 
is a jewel. 

Pierson. Yes, a pearl. 

Briggs. She ain’t a bit like Mrs. Briggs. 

Pierson. Not in the least. 

Briggs. Will you continue to live in bachelor quarters after 
you’re married ? 

Pierson ( indifferently ). Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t con- 
sidered the matter. 

Briggs. Yes, sir ; you’re a very lucky fellow. I’ve some- 
times thought that if I’d to get married over again, I wouldn't 
do it. 

Pierson. Why not ? 

Briggs ( thoughtfully ). Well, when a man’s single he hasn’t 
no wife. 

Pierson. I’ll admit that for the sake of argument, but an un- 
married man has no one to care for him ; no one to nurse him 
when he is sick. 

Briggs. Perhaps not, but a single man ain’t got no one to 
make him sick. There’s my wife, for instance 

Mrs. B. (out C.). I’ll cure him. 

Briggs (rising). By Jupiter ! That’s her voice. I must 
hide — no, I better had be sick again. (Runs to sofa up R. and 
throws himself upon it.) Tell her I’m asleep. 

Enter Mrs. Briggs, c. d. 

Mrs. B. (excitedly). Where have you hid him ? 

Pierson (putting his finger to his lips). Sh-h ! 

Mrs. B. Where is he ? 

Pierson (repeating business). Sh-h! Your husband is here. 

Mrs. B. (triumphantly). I knew it. 

Pierson. He came here with a bad attack of — of brain fever. 

Mrs. B. Brain fever ? Impossible. 

Pierson. At least, he appeared to have something serious 
on his mind. 

Mrs. B. That could not be. 

Pierson. He certainly seemed to be out of his head when he 
wandered in. 

Mrs. B. I don’t doubt that. It’s a wonder he didn’t wander 
in years ago. (Briggs groans.) What is that frightful noise ? 

Pierson (pointing to Briggs upon the sofa up r.). That is 
your husband groaning in his sleep. 

Mrs. B. (approaching sofa L.). Is he really asleep ? 

Pierson. That’s what he said, I believe. 

Mrs. B. (sharply). What ! 

[Briggs shakes his fist at Pierson ; Mrs. B. turns toward 
the sofa quickly , and Briggs instantly becomes still. 


30 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Pierson. I — I should say — that your husband thought a little 
rest would benefit him. 

Mrs. B. He could find it at home. 

Pierson. Yes, for probably he lost it there. 

[Briggs chuckles j Mrs. B. turns toward him quickly , 
and he groans deeply. 

Mrs. B. If he is really in pain, he should have a mustard- 
plaster. ^Goes toward C. D., as if to exit. 

Briggs {as if just awakening). Why, my darling, are you 
here ? I think that nap was just what I wanted, for I feel a 
mighty sight better. 

Pierson. You were groaning as if in great pain. 

Briggs {sitting up). Was I ? Well, I did have a fearful 
ache in my [ Putting his hands over his stomach. 

Mrs. B. [interrupting ; reprovingly ). Benjamin ! 

Briggs. In my heart, my love. But the pain left me just as 
soon as I fell asleep. 

Mrs. B. Then why did you groan so frightfully ? 

Briggs. Eh ? Oh, that was the nightmare, I reckon. {Ris- 
ing.) I dreamed that you and I was getting married over again 
and 

Mrs. B. {interrupting). You need not try to insult me, 
sir. 

Briggs. I ain’t trying. 

Mrs. B. You are succeeding, at any rate. 

Briggs. Oh, you’re mistaken. It wasn’t no insult to marry 
you, was it ? You was very handsome once, my dear. 

Mrs. B. {exasperated). Oh, this is too much ! 

Briggs. Not at all. I ain’t flattering you, my darling. 

Mrs. B. You are perfectly unendurable. 

Briggs {surprised). Eh ? 

Pierson {aside). Evidently they are going to enjoy a quarrel. 
I’ll leave them to fight it out alone. [Exit Pierson, l. 2 e. 

Briggs. If you thought I wasn’t durable, why did you marry 
me ? 

Mrs. B. That’s what I’ve often wondered. 

Briggs ( rising ; angrily). You was glad enough of the 
chance. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! 

Briggs. I reckon it was your first, and you was afeared it 
would be your last. 

Mrs. B. ( indignaiitly ). Sir ! 

Briggs. When I married you, who were you ? Nobody ! 

Mrs. B. Then you were Nobody’s fool. 

Briggs {laughing sarcastically). Ha-ha. Awful funny. 
But you were the fool. 

Mrs. B. Yes, when I married you. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


3 * 


Enter Burnett and Mrs. Burnett, c. d. ; Mrs. Burnett 
is trying to restrain him . 


Burnett. I shall speak to him. 

Mrs. Burn. But, my love, try to restrain your angry pas- 
sions. 

Burnett ( snappishly ). Nonsense ! Don’t bother me. 

Mrs. Burn. (hurt). Why, Robert, my love ! 

Burnett. Don’t meddle with what is none of your business. 
Mrs. Burn. Oh, you are cruel. 

Mrs. B. (to Mrs. Burnett), Your husband, like mine, seems 
to forget the respect he owes his wife. 

Briggs. For goodness’ sake, Susan, be satisfied with quar- 
relling with your own husband. 

Mrs. B. (haughtily). I know my duty, sir, and I try to dis- 
charge it faithfully. 

Briggs. Yes, and you keep it loaded up to the muzzle. 

[Briggs and Burnett retire up R. and talk 
together earnestly. 

Mrs. Burn (to Mrs. B.). It is a shame for him to speak so 
harshly. 

Mrs. B. Your husband treats you outrageously. 

Mrs. Burn. I cannot endure it. 

Mrs. B. Nor I, and I shall not. 

Mrs. Burn. Nor I. 

Mrs. B. ) 

Mrs. Burn, j 

[ They turn and go up C., talking together excitedly . 
Exeunt Mrs. Burnett and Mrs. Briggs, c. d. 
Burnett (to Briggs). I agree with you perfectly. 

[Burnett and Briggs come down C. 
Briggs. I can’t stand it no longer. 

Burnett. Nor I. 

Briggs. ) And 

we won’t. 

Burnett, j 

[They sit R. and L. of table , L. C. 
Briggs. If my wife only was sweet and agreeable like 


We won’t. 


yours 

Burnett (interrupting). That just the trouble. She is per- 
fectly sickening. It’s always “ my love ” and “ my darling.” 
Why doesn’t she show some spirit ? Why isn’t she like your 
wife ? 

Briggs. Eh ! 

Burnett. If she would only lose her temper 

Briggs. But my wife doesn’t lose her temper. I wish she 
would and never find it again. But she keeps it chained to 
her all the time. 


3 2 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Burnett ( complainuigly ). But everything seems to please my 
wife. 

Briggs. Nothing pleases mine. 

Burnett. She has absolutely no wish or will of her own. 

Briggs. My wife has no wish or will but her own. 

Burnett. Mrs. Burnett is always calm. Nothing annoys or 
makes her dissatisfied. 

Briggs. Mrs. Briggs wouldn’t be satisfied with a unholtered 
planet. 

Burnett ( rising and extending his ha7id to Briggs across 
the table). Give me your hand, sir. We are fellow sufferers ; 
brothers in adversity. 

Briggs. Yes. Companions in arms. 

[Rises and shakes hands. 

Burnett. You have my sincere sympathy. 

Briggs. I pity you with all my heart. 

[They sit again R. and L. of table , L. C. 

Burnett. Oh, if we were but children again. 

Briggs. Yes, then probably we wouldn’t be married. 

Burnett. Probably not. 

Briggs. We could go to the theatre without being afeared of 
no one. 

Burnett. Yes, and we would go behind the scenes, as I used 
to do when single. 

Briggs {eagerly). Eh ? You did ? Let’s pretend we ain’t 
married and go to-night. 

Burnett. In defiance of our wives ? 

Briggs. Just so. 

Burnett {rising and extending his hand). It’s a bargain. 

Briggs {rising and shaking hands). I’ve been trying to get 
my prospective son-in-law to take me, but he’s too busy — so he 
says. 

Burnett. I was not aware that your daughter contemplated 
a matrimonial alliance. 

Briggs. Eh ? Of course she does. Her and young Pierson 
have been keeping company for 

Burnett {interrupting). Pierson ! Not Walter Pierson ? 

Briggs. That’s his name. 

Burnett. But there must be some mistake. You say your 
daughter is engaged to marry Walter Pierson ? 

Briggs. Yes, and has been for 

Burnett {interrupting). Oh, you must be mistaken. En- 
gaged to your daughter ? Why, the very idea is ridiculous. 

Briggs {insulted). Eh ? 

Burnett. I — I mean — oh, it isn’t true. Why, Pierson is 
engaged to my daughter Margaret. 

Briggs. What ! 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


33 


Burnett. They have been engaged for 

Briggs ( interrupting ). Impossible ! 

Burnett ( with dignity'). What do you insinuate, sir ? It is 
not only possible and probable, but also a fact. 

Briggs. But he can’t marry two girls. 

Burnett. No, certainly not ; and if what you say is true 

Briggs {angrily). Of course it’s true. 

Burnett. Then he’s a villain ! 

Briggs. A — a — scalliwag ! 

Enter Pierson, l. 2 e. 

Burnett ( seeing Pierson). Oh, there you are. 

Pierson {quietly). I believe so. 

Briggs. What do you mean by the way you’ve been acting ? 

Burnett. You have been deceiving me, sir. 

Briggs. You have treated me terrifically. 

Burnett. But I shall learn the truth. I have come with the 
determination to find you out. 

Pierson. I am extremely sorry to disappoint you by being at 
home. 

Burnett. You are an intended bigamist. 

Briggs. A future Mormon. 

Burnett. A deceiver of 

Pierson {interrupting). Gentlemen, I am extremely gratified 
to learn all these interesting facts. You appear to be thoroughly 
posted in regard to my past, present and future, but really I 
am far too modest to 

Burnett {interrupting ; severely). We wish no jesting, sir. 

Briggs. Of course we don’t. 

Pierson. Certainly not ; but I am somewhat at a loss to 
know the cause of this ovation. There appears to be some little 
trifle which annoys you 

Briggs. I want to know 

Pierson {interrupting). Of course you do, and if I can give 
you any information I shall feel that my life has not been en- 
tirely useless. But one at a time, gentlemen, one at a time. 
My doctor won’t allow me to think 

Burnett {interrupting angrily). Hang your doctor ! 

Pierson. I agree with you. Then I can think without his 
interference. But until he is executed his law must be obeyed. 
It is a duty I owe my health. So, lest my mental powers be 
overtaxed with too great a quantity of thought, I must request 
that the interview with each be entirely private. 

Briggs. Nonsense ! 

Pierson. Not at all. It is certainly as fair to one as the 
other. Now with which shall I have the pleasure of conversing 
first ? Suppose Mr. Briggs retires to my sitting-room. (Briggs 

3 


34 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


makes signs of objection.) Oh ! you will find it very pleasant 
there, I assure you. ( Leading Briggs R.) Choice cigars, the 
latest magazines, and an easy chair. After I have given Mr. 
Burnett all the information he may desire, I shall be pleased to 
donate to you what remains. Right out this way. (Exit 
Briggs, R. d. ; crossing L.) Now, Mr. Burnett. 

Burnett. Young man, this frivolity is unseemly. The subject 
that we are about to discuss is a very serious one, ( threateningly ) 
and if I find that you have acted as appearances indicate, by 
Heavens ! I — I’ll — I’ll tear you into fragments. 

Pierson {aside). I am a fragmented man, unless I can make 
appearances appear deceptive. 

Burnett ( sitting l.). Sit down. 

Pierson. Thanks, but I prefer 

Burnett {interrupting ; angrily). Sit down, I say. You 
prefer to do what I wish. 

Pierson {sitting quickly). Oh, of course I do. Anything to 
be agreeable. 

Burnett. Now I wish to know what is the meaning of this 
report. 

Pierson {innocently). Report? I didn’t hear any firing. 

Burnett {sternly). No nonsense, sir. You know what I 
mean. Six months ago you became engaged to my daughter 
Margaret, but while she was abroad you jilted her. 

Pierson. Oh, no, I 

Burnett {interrupting j angrily). You jilted her, I say, and 
because you ceased to correspond, the poor girl worried herself 
almost sick. All on account of you, sir — a beastly — a beastly — 
a \Hesitates. 

Pierson. Idiot, sir. Idiot is the proper term. I fully ap- 
preciate the enormity of my elephantine stupidity and I de- 
serve all that I have endured. But it was not entirely my fault. 

Burnett. Not your fault ? Explain yourself, sir. 

Pierson. I am naturally of a jealous disposition, as all men 
are, and when I read among the foreign news in one of the 
society papers that a young English lord was attentive tc 
Margaret 

Burnett {interrupting). Eh ! You saw that ? 

Pierson. Yes, and believed it. 

Burnett {half aside j angrily). Confound him ! 

Pierson {surprised). Sir ? 

Burnett. I knew that young aristocrat would cause trouble. 
Why, he followed Margaret all over the continent. 

Pierson. The scoundrel ! 

Burnett. But she never cared for him. No, all her love be- 
longed to you. 

Herson. Bless her ! 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


35 


Burnett. And she thought you had forsaken her. 

Pierson {rising). It was all a mistake — a misunderstand- 
ing — 

Burnett. Perhaps it was, but — sit down. (Pierson sits 
quickly.) There’s another chapter to this story. 

Pierson {aside). I would rather it be continued in our next. 

Burnett. I have just heard from a most reliable source that 
while you have professed to be engaged to my daughter, you 
have been paying your attentions to another young woman. 
What is the meaning of this ? 

Pierson. I — I really can’t say. 

Burnett. But you must say. 

Pierson {aside). Evidently he has been deceived that way 
before. I hate to lie, but I would be equally sorry to tell the 
truth in this case. 

Burnett {sternly) Well, sir ? 

Pierson. I am sure that — a — that [ Hesitates . 

Burnett. Are you positive ? 

Pierson. Very. You see, I feel a certain amount of delicacy 
in speaking of this matter, because — well, because I — I do not 
wish to appear conceited or to expose to the rude and vulgar 
gaze of 

Burnett {interrupting). You need not become personal, sir. 

Pierson. Oh, I didn’t intend to. 

Burnett. Nor poetical. 

Pierson. Impossible. I was simply referring to the world at 
large. 

Burnett. The world is far too large for a mere reference. 
You may omit your preface. 

Pierson. Well, when I became acquainted with Eliza 
Briggs 

Burnett {interrupting ; sneeringly). You fell in love, I 
suppose. 

Pierson. Oh, no. She did the falling. 

Burnett. And you did nothing to encourage her ? 

Pierson. My dear sir, spare my feelings. I have had my 
pride greatly humbled many times, but never more so than when 
you suggest the mere possibility of my encouraging Eliza Briggs 
in her professions of affection. 

Burnett. But her father asserts that you are engaged to her. 

Pierson. Is it possible ? Surely you would not believe a mere 
stranger — a rough, vulgar and uneducated countryman — before 
a friend who vows that he loves but one woman in the world, 
and that one your daughter Margaret ? 

Burnett. Well, Walter, I must confess that I can scarcely 
credit you with falling in love with a girl who, in comparison to 
Margaret, is like a [ Hesitates , 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


3 6 

Pierson. It is impossible to compare them, sir. 

Burnett {rising). Certainly it is. Why, the very idea is 
ridiculous. 

Pierson {rising). Simply ludicrous. 

Burnett. The man who would become engaged to Eliza 
Briggs must be a — a [ Hesitates . 

Pierson. There is no doubt of it. 

Burnett. He would be crazy. 

Pierson. As crazy as a man engaged to two girls at the same 
time. 

Burnett. To think that I doubted your sanity ! 

Pierson. Such a thought is incredible. 

Burnett {extending his hand). Walter, my boy, you will 
try to forgive me ? 

Pierson {grasping his hand). Yes, I’ll try. 

Burnett. I shall never doubt you again. 

Pierson {aside). I hope he will never have cause. 

Burnett. You and Margaret thoroughly understand each 
other, I hope ? 

Pierson. Oh, yes ; everything has been satisfactorily ex- 
plained. 

Burnett. And as for Briggs 

Pierson {interrupting). Oh, you need not mention this sub- 
ject to him. He is so — so [- Hesitates . 

Burnett. Pig-headed ? 

Pierson. Precisely. It is impossible to make him change his 
opinions. 

Burnett {going up c.). And yet he seems like a pleasant 
companion. 

Pierson. Oh, he is — very. 

Burnett. We have one great interest in common. 

Pierson. Both have daughters ? 

Burnett. No ; both have wives. [Exit Burnett, c. d. 

Pierson. Well, I weathered that storm magnificently. Now 
to take in a few reefs before the wind blows from another 
quarter. {Points out r. d., where Briggs is.) I am certainly a 
very fortunate man to have two fathers-in-law to entertain me, 
but I would prefer to play Solitaire. Unfortunately it is not 
within my power to deny them a hand in the sport. My happi- 
ness is staked upon the game, so I must not lose and I shall tint. 

[Exit Pierson, r. d. 

Enter Muggins, c. d. 

Muggins. Well, this is certainly living in clover. I never 
knowed afore what enjoyments was in the life of the nobility. I 
wonder how long I can keep it up. I can play the part of Lord 
McMullin as well as the man that owns the name, but I’m 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


37 


afeared he’s gettin’ a trifle tired of bein’ a servant. I reckon it’s 
because he ain’t accustomed to the place. I’m thinking he’ll be 
tellin’ who he is next, an’ then I’ll have to leave for parts un- 
known. I wish I could get that young heiress to elope with me. 
Then I wouldn’t care how soon they learn who I am or who I 
ain’t, either. But somehow she don’t seem to care for me like 
she ought to. Well, I’m a-goin’ to marry her if I can. The 
chance of havin’ a wife to support me is too good to be lost. 

Enter McMullin, l. i e., disdainfully carrying a pair of 
shoes. 


McMullin. The idea ! I have become a mere beast of 
burden. I have no more individuality than a mule. 

Muggins (L.). Ah ! You don’t say. (McMullin starts, and 
nervously hiding shoes , places the?n on chair.) Quite charac- 
teristic, don’t you know ? 

McMullin. I — I beg pardon, but — but I do not remember 
having had the pleasure of an introduction. 

Muggins. No ? Dear me 1 

McMullin. Might I — might I ask if you are a friend of Mr. 
Pierson’s ? 

Muggins. Yes, oh yes. Walt and I have been quite intimate 
for years, don’t you know. He’s a jolly good fellow. 

McMullin. I cannot agree with you. 

Muggins. No? 

McMullin. He has been anything but gentlemanly in his 


deportment. 

Muggins. You don’t say ? 

McMullin. I am here as his guest. 

Muggins. So am I. 

McMullin. But he treats me outrageously. 

Muggins. One would expect that. 

McMullin. Sir ! 

Muggins. I— I mean— American hospitality, you know. 
You’ll become accustomed to it in time. I must confess I was 
rather surprised at my own reception, it was so jolly novel, 
don’t you know. 

McMullin. Yes, jolly novel— if it was anything like mine. 
May I — may I ask your name ? 

Muggins. Certainly, dear boy, certainly. And yours ? 

McMullin. Lord McMullin. 

Muggins ( thoughtfully ). McMullin— McMullin. The name 
sounds familiar. 

McMullin. My father was in the House of Lords, don t you 
know. 

Muggins. Ah, indeed. Too bad ! Oh, yes, yes, I remem- 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


38 

ber now ; your lamented parent made his fortune in the green 
goods business, didn’t he ? 

McMullin {insulted). Sir ! Our family has never been in 
trade. 

Muggins. No ? Dear me ! {Patting him on the back.) 
But don’t despair, old fellow ; no doubt your ancestral line is a 
short one, but you are still young. Ta, ta, dear boy ; don’t ; 
ta, ta. [Exit Muggins, l. 2 e. 

McMullin. The idea ! Such impertinence ! To think that 
I, Lord Albert Anthony McMullin, whose violet-blue Anglo- 
Saxon blood trickles through a frame which has never bowed 
the knee — to think that I should be compelled not only to en- 
dure servile toil, but also to bear insult in order to conquer the 
love of an American maid. But I adore her ! I would grovel 
in the dust at her feet if such humility would win her for my 
bride. 

Enter Margaret, c. d. 

McMullin {starting). Miss Burnett ! 

Margaret. Oh ! I — I did not know you were here. 

McMullin. You appear disappointed. 

Margaret, No ; oh, no — I — I came to — I wished to see Mr. 
Pierson about — about a matter of business, you know. 

McMullin. Yes, of course ; of course. 

Margaret. I have wished to see you, my lord 

McMullin. Indeed ! 

Margaret. To — to ask if you have noticed anything peculiar 
in Mr. Pierson’s actions lately. 

McMullin. Well, I must confess it could scarcely escape my 
notice. 

Margaret {quickly). You don’t think he suspects — I — I 
mean, does — does he know who you are ? 

McMullin. Know who I am ? Certainly. 

Margaret. But — but does he know — that is — if he has been 
acting strangely toward you — perhaps it is — a — jealousy. 

McMullin. Jealousy ! 

Margaret. Perhaps — perhaps you have been too attentive to 
— to some one he may care for. 

McMullin. You don’t think {Aside.) Is it possible 

that he loves Miss Briggs ? 

Margaret. It might make him very angry if he knew. 

McMullin. But, Miss Burnett, you surely do not advise me 
to 

Margaret {interrupting). To cease your attentions. 

McMullin. Oh, I cannot do that. 

Margaret. But you must. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


39 


Enter Eliza, c. d., carrying her hat and coat. 

McMullin ( taking Margaret’s hand). I cannot. Would 
you tear from my bosom the one emotion which moves my 

whole existence ? Would you have me bid farewell to 

( Seeing Eliza.) Miss Briggs ! 

Eliza {jealously ). Oh, don’t let me interrupt. 

Margaret. Lord McMullin was 

Eliza (i interrupting ). I saw him. [ Comes down R. 

Margaret. But, Miss Briggs, I 

Eliza {interrupting). Don’t speak to me. 

McMullin {aside to Margaret). Miss Burnett, perhaps I 
can explain. 

Margaret. But you will not tell her what I have said ? 

McMullin. That will be quite unnecessary, don’t you know. 

[Exit Margaret, c. d. 

McMullin. Miss Briggs. {A pause.) Will you not give me 
one little word ? {A pause.) I shall withdraw if you demand it. 

Eliza. Oh, don’t disturb yourself on my account. 

McMullin {impressively). I — I would be charmed to obey 
your slightest wish, Miss Briggs. What you desire, to me is 
law. 

Eliza {aside). He is so persuasive. 

McMullin. I would brave the dangers of the deep ; I would 
even become a cowboy and 

Eliza {interrupting ; anxiously). But you might be scalped 
by the Indians. 

McMullin. There is really no danger, you know — unless a 
man behaves like an ass. 

Eliza {appealingly). Oh, don’t go. 

McMullin {eagerly). Do you really care ? 

Eliza {guardedly). I — I — it would be such a shame for one 
so young to lose his hair. [Goes up r. and places hat and 

coat on the sofa. 

McMullin. But of what use would my hair be without my 
head ? 

Eliza. Of none ; should you lose your head also ? 

[Eliza sits r. of table , l. c. 

McMullin. I have lost it. It has followed my heart. 

Eliza. Y — you — are you in love ? 

McMullin A million feet deep. 

Eliza {disappointed and sighing deeply ). Ah, me ! 

McMullin. Why do you sigh ? 

Eliza. I — I was — was thinking. {Sharply.) Is your love 
returned ? 

McMullin. I do not know. [.Sto l. 

Eliza. Why ? 


40 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


McMullin. I have not asked, don’t you know. 

Eliza ( excitedly ). Don’t do it. She don’t care for you. I’m 
sure she don’t. 

McMullin (sadly). Is that your advice ? 

Eliza. Yes. 

McMullin. You wish to — to shatter my heart ? 

Eliza. No, no, but 

McMullin ( interrupting ). I am of an awful sensitive, senti- 
mental disposition. 

Eliza. So am 1 ; horribly so. 

McMullin. Years ago my susceptibilities received a mighty 
shock, from which they have never recovered. A widowed 
lady 

Eliza (interrupting). You loved a widow ? 

McMullin. No ; a widow loved me. 

Eliza. Oh, the horrid thing ! How could she ? 

McMullin. She was wealthy and of a noble family 

Eliza. And yet you could not love her ? 

McMullin. No, for she was a born coquette. 

Eliza. And how did you resist her attentions ? 

McMullin. By looking at her. 

Eliza. You saw that she was deceiving you, I suppose. 

McMullin. Oh, I — I didn’t object to that, but the storms of 
many winters had beaten against that face. In her coy way, 
she told me that her age was but a quarter of a century. She 
looked fully a quarter past. 

Eliza. Was she so ancient ? 

McMullin. Why, her daughter died of old age a year before. 
(Rising.) Can you not understand the blow I sustained when 
I learned of this creature’s adoration ? 

Eliza. You deserve the deepest sympathy. 

McMullin. But I merit far greater now. Then I was loved, 
but did not love in return ; now / worship a maid and my affec- 
tion is unrequited. Have pity, I pray. I have undergone tor- 
ment for your sake — I — I should say, for her sake — for the sake 
of the girl I adore. 

Eliza (rising). What do you mean ? 

McMullin. Insult has been heaped upon injury. I came 
here with a letter of introduction, and I was received as a ser- 
vant and have been treated like a slave. 

Eliza. Impossible ! 

McMullin. I run errands ; I pack trunks ; I carry boots. 

Eliza. For whom ? 

McMullin. One who should welcome me as a friend. 

Eliza. Not Mr. Pierson ? 

McMullin. Yes. 

Eliza (angrily). Oh, the villain ! 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


41 


McMullin (L.). You extend your sympathy ? 

Eliza ( extending her hand). My very sincerest. (McMUL- 
lin grasps her hand and kisses it.) You have been treated 
outrageously. [McMullin again kisses her hand. 

Enter Pierson and Briggs, r. d.; McMullin and Eliza 

stand embarrassed j then talk together earnestly down L. ; 

Pierson and Briggs go up c. and do not see them. 

Pierson. So you are going to the theatre to-night, eh ? 

Briggs. Yes, with Burnett. 

Pierson. Don’t break the girls’ hearts. 

Briggs ( chuckluig ). I’ll try not to. 

Pierson. And, by the way, don’t mention to Mr. Burnett 
what we were discussing. 

Briggs. I suppose he’s so bull-headed he wouldn’t under- 
stand. 

Pierson. Precisely. Good-bye. Hope you’ll have a good 
time. (Exit Briggs, C. d.) Now to complete my packing, 
{Sees Eliza and McMullin and starts back surprised.) W — 
why — where did you come from ? 

Eliza {excitedly). You’re a scoundrel ! 

Pierson. Eh ? What’s the matter ? 

Eliza. You’re — you’re no gentleman ! 

Pierson. Eliza, though I consider you no judge, I certainly 
cannot allow 

Eliza {interrupting angrily). You can allow. You shall 
allow. If you act so preposterously, you must expect to be 
judged accordingly. What right have you to treat a gentleman 
as if he were a dog ? 

Pierson. You are talking nonsense. 

McMullin. How dare you speak so insultingly, sir ? 

Pierson {furiously). Hold your tongue ! 

Eliza {reprovingly). Walter ! 

Pierson {to McMullin). You perfected example of jackass- 
ish, adamantine stupidity ! 

McMullin. Sir! 

Pierson. You worthless, idiotic numbskull ! 

Eliza {aside to Pierson). Walter, if you do not stop using 
such language, I — I — I’ll — I’ll break our engagement. 

Pierson {eagerly). You will? {Aside.) Oh, why is my 
vocabulary so limited ? 

Eliza {aside to Pierson). You deserve that we should part 
forever. 

Pierson. I do, I do. 

Eliza. I have been deceived in you. 

Pierson. Yes, yes ; there is no doubt of it — I’m not worthy 
to breathe the same air. 


42 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Eliza. You have been exceedingly uncivil 

Pierson. I am a perfect boor. 

Eliza. You are a — a [ Hesitates . 

McMullin. An awfully insulting 

Pierson {interrupting j furiously ). What business is it of 

yours if I’m a chimpanzee ? You 

Eliza ( interrupting ). Walter ! 

Pierson (to McMullin, excitedly ). You 

Eliza (a interrupting ). Walter ! Stop ! Not another word. 
(Pierson goes as if to speak.') Stop, I say ! One word and 
everything is at an end between us. 

Pierson (eagerly). Do you really mean it ? 

Eliza. There — you have spoken. Henceforth we are strangers. 
Pierson. Can it be true ! 

Eliza. You will pray for my forgiveness, but it shall not be 
granted. You will pine away for the want of one smile, one 
look, one word, which you shall never receive. We are stran- 
gers forever. 

Pierson (delighted). Strangers ! 

Eliza. Unless — unless you beg my pardon. 

Pierson. Is that your only condition ? 

Eliza. Yes. 

Pierson (aside). Then we shall remain strangers. 

Eliza. You must fall upon your knees and 

Pierson (interrupting). Oh, that would be ridiculous. 

Eliza. But you must; you shall. (Pointing to the floor.) F all! 
Pierson. Never. 

Eliza. You won’t? I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then, if 
you haven’t fallen, your doom is sealed. [Exit Eliza, r. d. 
Pierson (delighted). Strangers ! 

McMullin. If you have lost her friendship, you have only 
yourself to blame. 

Pierson (angrily). Leave the room ! 

McMullin. If you wish me to depart 

Pierson (interrupting ; furiously). Go ! 

McMullin. I have never been entertained so 

Pierson (interrupting ; frantically). Go, or I’ll 

McMullin. But if 

Pierson (makes a spring at him and chases him around the 
table). Oh, if only I had something to throw at your ugly head ! 
\Chases him R., around armchair ; then, as McMullin 
makes a dart for C. D., PIERSON snatches off a slipper 
and hurls it after him. Enter Mrs. Burnett and 
Margaret, c. d.; exit McMullin, c. d. 

Pierson (upon seeing Mrs. Burnett and Margaret). By 
Jove ! [ Realizing that he is without a slipper , he springs 

L. of the table , L. C. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


43 


Margaret. Oh, Walter, I am so glad that you are at home. 

[ Advances to meet him with hands extended . 

Pierson ( nervously ). Yes, so am I — awfully glad. 

[ Leans over the table and shakes hands with Margaret. 

Mrs. Burn. Now you will be able to have a nice, long, 
confidential talk. 

Pierson {quickly). No, we won’t. I — I — mean — yes — yes, 
of course ; certainly. {Aside.) Oh, what if Eliza should come in l 

Margaret {after exchanging questioning glances with Mrs. 
Burnett). Walter, do you — do you feel ill ? 

Pierson. Ill ? Oh, no — why should I ? 

Mrs. Burn. You appear slightly worried. 

Pierson. Not at all — certainly not. Won’t you take a 
chair ? {Aside.) I hope not. 

Mrs. Burn. Thank you. 

Pierson. Take two chairs. You’ll find it very comfortable 
in the hall. {Quickly.) No, no, I don’t mean that 

Margaret {solicitously). Walter, you must be ill. 

Mrs. Burn. Yes, his face is flushed. 

Margaret. And his eye glitters. 

Mrs. Burn. Perhaps he has brain fever. 

Margaret. Or the toothache. 

Mrs. Burn. Feel his pulse. 

\They advance around the table from right to left , and 
Pierson hops away , keeping the table between them. 

Pierson (R. of table ; seeing his shoes upon the chair by the 
table). Ah, my shoes ! [ Snatches up one as he passes. 

Mrs. Burn, {aside to Margaret). He is talking wildly. 
Try to soothe him. [Pierson hops around and tries 

to put on his shoe. 

Margaret. Walter, dear, please calm yourself— for my sake. 
{Aside to Mrs. Burnett.) Mamma, can he have the St. Vitus 
dance ? 

Pierson (l. of table ; has tried to put his shoe on, but 
failed j aside). Confound it ! I have the wrong one. 

[ Throws the shoe wider the table . 

Mrs. Burn. ) {advancing around the table from R. to L.) Be 

Margaret j calm ! 

[Pierson retreats to R. of table , and snatches up the other 
shoe ; Mrs. Burnett and Margaret advance r., one 
on each side of the table. Pierson hastily seats him- 
self ; and hides his feet and the shoe wider the table- 
cover. 

Mrs. Burn. My poor boy, what is the matter ? Tell me, 
and I will go and 

Pierson {interrupting eagerly). Yes, yes — by all means. 

Mrs. Burn. Have you the— the rheumatism ? 


44 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Pierson. Yes, in my left foot, 

Margaret. Oh, I am so sorry. 

Pierson. So am I, awfully. 

Mrs. Burn. I will go immediately. 

Pierson {eagerly). Will you ? 

Mrs. Burn. And get you some medicine. 

Pierson. You are very kind. 

Mrs. Burn. I will return in a few minutes. 

Pierson. Oh, don’t hurry. [Exit Mrs. Burnett, c. d. 

Margaret. Can I do anything to ease your pain ? 

Pierson {struggling to put on his shoe under the table). 
No, 1 think not, thank you. I’ll be all right just as soon as I 

get this old — I — I should say {Succeeds in putting on his 

shoe.) There! {Rising.) Now I feel better — decidedly better. 

Margaret. I am very glad. I was beginning to feel greatly 
worried. 

Pierson. So was I. {Suddenly remembering that Eliza 
is in the room, R.; aside.) Great Scott ! Eliza’s fifteen min- 
utes must be nearly up. If she should come in ! {To Mar- 
garet, quickly.) Don’t you want to take a walk ? Yes, I am 
sure you do. 

Margaret. Oh, I was out all the morning. 

Pierson. But the — the air is so delightful. 

Margaret. Why, Walter, it is threatening rain. Such damp 
weather would only increase your rheumatism. 

Pierson. Oh, hang my rheumatism ! 

Margaret {reprovingly). Walter ! 

Pierson. I — I mean if — if it deprives me of so great a pleasure. 

Margaret. But I would far rather remain here and converse 
with you ; that is, if you want me to. 

Pierson. Oh, of course I want you. 

Margaret {seeing Eliza’s coat and hat upon the sofa up R.; 
pointing to them). Why, whose are those ? 

Pierson. Those what ? {Aside.) Great Heavens ! Eliza’s 
hat and coat ! What shall I say ? 

Margaret {taking up the hat and coat j suspiciously ). 
These belong to some woman. 

Pierson ( nervously ). No, no, not at all — you are mistaken. 

Margaret. Some young woman. Whose are they ? 

Pierson. I — I don’t know, I’m sure. 

Margaret. Walter, do not attempt to deceive me. This is 
the property of some uncultured female. 

Pierson. Impossible ! 

Margaret. But I know by the rakish appearance of this hat. 

Pierson {weakly). There must be some mistake. 

Margaret {pointedly). A very great mistake ; they cannot 
be yours. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


45 


Pierson (i interrupting ). Yes — yes — they are mine. 

Margaret. Nonsense. What could you do with them ? 

Pierson. Eh ? Do with them ? Oh, nothing, nothing. Use 
them as ornaments. 

Margaret. Walter, you are hiding something from me. 

Pierson. No, these are all I have in stock, believe me. Y — 
you see — I suppose you wish to know the truth ? 

Margaret. Certainly. 

Pierson {aside). How can I deceive her ? (To Margaret.) 
Well, if you must know, these — these garments are articles 

which I — I have purchased to — a — to (Hesitates.) I — I 

didn’t wish to tell you, but if you insist 

Margaret. I do. 

Pierson. Well — I — I — a — they belong to a masquerading 
costume. 

Margaret. l?o you expect to attend a masked ball ? 

Pierson (jumping at the idea). Yes, that’s it ; a ball. 
(Aside.) Why didn’t I think of that before ? 

Margaret. I suppose you wish to be disguised ? 

Pierson. Yes ; don’t you think these will have the desired 
effect ? 

Margaret. They ought to. (Laughing.) Just imagine how 
ridiculous you would appear. 

Pierson (laughing weakly ). Yes — awfully funny, isn’t it ? 
Ha, ha, ha ! 

Margaret (still laughing). Put them on. 

Pierson. Eh ? 

Margaret. Let me see how you look. 

Pierson. Oh, I — I can’t do that. 

Margaret. Ah, please, Walter. 

Pierson. But — but suppose some one should enter. 

Margaret. There is no danger. 

Pierson. Yes, there is ; a very great danger. Besides, I — I 
haven’t purchased the entire outfit yet, and 

Margaret (interrupting ; pointing). I don’t believe they are 
yours at all. 

Pierson. Oh, yes, they are. 

Margaret. Then be a good boy, please do. 

[Puts the hat upon his head. 

Pierson (aside). There is no hope for me. 

Margaret (gayly)- The table cover will make a splendid 
skirt. 

Pierson. But, Margaret 

Margaret (interrupting and taking the cover from the table). 
Now don’t be disagreeable, Walter. (Pins the table-cover around 
his waist. It is much too large , and completely covers his 
feet.) There, you look simply bewitching. 


46 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Pierson {aside). What if Eliza should enter now ! 

Margaret. Now for the coat. {Takes up Eliza’s coat and 
puts it over Pierson’s shoulders.) Why, this is far too small. 

Pierson. Is it ? The saleslady must have miscalculated my 
size. 

Margaret {finding a handkerchief in one of the coat pockets). 
Why, what’s this ? A woman’s handkerchief! 

Pierson {aside). Great Scott ! I am lost ! 

Margaret {reading the initials upon the handkerchief). “ E. 
B.” {Severely.) Walter ! 

Pierson {agitated). I — I didn’t put it there. 

Margaret. Walter ! You have been deceiving me. 

Pierson. No — no ; I couldn’t help it. Forgive me, I implore 
you. {Clasps his hands , takes a step forward , trips over the 
table-cover and falls upon his knees. 

Enter Eliza, r. d., and Muggins, l. 2 e. 

Eliza. Margaret. 

Pierson. Muggins. 


CURTAIN. 


ACT III. 

Scene. — The sitting-room of Walter Pierson’s apartments 
in “ The St. George ,” New York. Table a7id chairs , R. c. ; 
sofa, up L. ; bay window, R. F., opening upon a balcony; 
various articles of furniture, etc. 

PIERSON discovered seated L. of table, r. c., with his head 
upon his hand in an attitude of despair. In his other hand 
he has two letters. 

Pierson. The crisis has come at last. Both Margaret and 
Eliza are in arms. {Reads one of the letters which he has al- 
ready opened.) What do I care ? {Tears the letter ijrto frag- 
ments.) If Eliza finds it agreeable to be in a temper, I am sure 
I don’t wish to mar her enjoyment. But Margaret ! {Kisses 
the other letter.) Ah, what am I to do ? {Reads the letter and 
shakes his head sadly.) Is indeed everything at an end be- 
tween us ? {Rising.) How in the deuce did Eliza learn my 
address ? I was particularly careful to keep the fact of my mov- 
ing a secret. {Thoughtfully .) I wonder — no, Lord McMullin 
would not have informed her. Perhaps she learned it from Mrs. 
Chatterton. That woman never could mind her own business. 
I told her to send my mail here, but I should have bribed her to 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


47 


keep it secret. Well, there’s but one thing that can save me. 
If Lord McMullin is successful in making love, then Margaret 
will believe that Eliza cares nothing for me, and consequently 
she will no longer have any grounds for suspicion or jealousy. 

Enter Muggins, l. d., prepared for the street . 

Pierson. Ah, my Lord ! Going out ? 

Muggins. Yes. I thought I’d L Hesitates . 

Pierson. An excellent idea. Call upon Miss Briggs by all 
means. She will be delighted to see you, I’m sure. By the way 
— what report have you to make as regards your — a — attentions 
in that direction ? 

Muggins. Progress. 

Pierson. Good. You would make an admirable committee- 
man. When am I to offer congratulations ? 

Muggins. Well, not before the announcement. 

Pierson. I hope that will be very soon. 

Muggins. So do I. [Exit Muggins, c. d. 

Pierson. This complication reminds me of an election in 
which all the office-seekers are dependent upon the success of 
one man. {Thoughtfully .) If I had the courage to confess 
everything to Mr. Burnett or Mr. Briggs, perhaps they could — 
but no, no — that would never do. When men quarrel with their 
wives to the extent that they determine to devote a night to 
revelry, they cannot be expected to sympathize with a bachelor 
in his love affairs. 

Enter Burnett and Briggs, C. d. ; they appear com - 
pietely worn out after a night of dissipation. 

Pierson {heartily). Why, gentlemen, how are you ? 

Burnett (wearily). Weary, so weary of living. 

Briggs (putting his hands to his head). Oh my head ! 

Burnett. We are overcome with remorse. 

Briggs. And champagne. 

Burnett (sitting on sofa up L.). I feel like a parasite on the 
tree of time. 

Briggs (sitting beside Burnett on the sofa, looking at him 
as if not under stajiding j then quietly). So do I. 

Pierson. I imagine from the hilarious condition of your feel- 
ings that you passed the night in 

Burnett (interrupting). In — in — revenge upon our wives. 
If the felicity of our hearths and homes has been shattered 

Briggs (interrupting). It’s our wives as is to blame. 

Pierson (sarcastically). Oh, of course, 

Burnett. We came to you for assistance. 

Pierson. I am sorry, but I have no soda on hand. 

Burnett (somewhat severely ). You misunderstand me, sir. 


48 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Briggs. We’ve tried soda. 

Pierson. Then in what can I assist you ? 

Burnett. We have determined that since we — we were 

[ Hesitates . 

Kept from home 

Yes ; since we were unavoidably detained from 
night, it might be best to notify our wives to 


Briggs. 

Burnett. 

our homes last 
that effect. 

Pierson {aside). 
Burnett. Now, 

know 


Evidently they are afraid to return, 
if you could interview our wives, 


you 


Pierson ( interrupting ). 
and 


And tell them that I have seen you, 


Burnett (; interrupting ). Oh, no, no — that would never do. 
Briggs. You ain’t supposed to have seen us. 

Pierson. Indeed ? That’s an important point. 

Briggs. We’re away from home, you know, 

Pierson. Ah, I see ; left last night, I suppose. 

Briggs. Just so. 

Burnett. Business — important business. 

Briggs. Called us off sudden like. 

Pierson. I understand. Of course in your great haste to 
make a train, you had no opportunity to bid farewell. 

Briggs. Of course not. 

Burnett. You are remarkably intelligent. 

Briggs. Yes, you’ll make a good husband. 

Pierson. Well, since I am not supposed to know the circum- 
stances of the case, don’t you think it would appear a trifle pe- 
culiar for me to inform your wives ? 

Briggs. But we ought to send them word. 

Pierson. Why not telegraph ? 

Burnett. A brilliant idea. 

Pierson. To what place has business called you ? 

Briggs. I think I’m in Jersey. 

Pierson. A very suitable spot. 

Burnett. I have gone to Philadelphia. 

Pierson. Excellent. 

Briggs (rising). Let’s write them telegrams now, eh ? 
Burnett (rising). The sooner the better. 

Pierson. Yes. Suppose you come into the smoking-room 
where 1 have the necessary articles to assist you in sending your 
wives these kind tokens of your remembrance. 

[ They all go r. Exit Burnett, r. d. 
Briggs. Walter, don’t you think my telegram better had be 
anonymous ? 

Pierson. Nonsense. [Exeunt Briggs and Pierson, r. d., 

A slight pause. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


49 


Enter McMullin, c. d. 

McMullin {calling). Mr. Pierson ! He does not appear to 
be at home. Too bad ! But he shall give me an explanation 
for his outrageous treatment. I endured it patiently, making 
allowances for his beastly American breeding. But, by Jove ! 
when he insulted Miss Briggs and then hurled a shoe at my 
head, my indignation could no longer be expected to keep within 
bounds. He must apologize ; and if he refuses, I’ll — I’ll chal- 
lenge him to mortal combat and be avenged. 

Enter Mrs. Burnett and Mrs. Briggs, c. d. 

Mrs. Burn. ( looking about the room j tearfully). They are 
not here. {To McMullin.) Oh, have you — have you seen our 
husbands anywhere ? 

McMullin. Not this morning, madam. 

Mrs. B. Nor Mr. Pierson ? 

McMullin. No ; I believe he is not at home, don’t you know ? 

Mrs. Burn. Perhaps — perhaps he is at “The Cosmopole.” 

Mrs. B. More likely he has gone off with our recreant hus- 
bands. 

McMullin. If you wish, Mrs. Burnett, I will stop at “ The 
Cosmopole ” as I pass and 

Mrs. Bum. {interrupting). Will you ? You arc so kind. 

McMullin. Not at all. 

Mrs. B. If Mr. Pierson is there, send him here, immediately. 

McMullin. Certainly. [Exit McMullin, c. d. 

Mrs. Burn, {putting her handkerchief to her eyes and 
snifjing). Oh, what shall we do ? 

Mrs. B. Nothing. 

Mrs. Burn. But they may have been murdered. 

Mrs. B. Nonsense! No one would take the trouble. 

Mrs*. Burn. Perhaps they have been kidnapped. 

Mrs. B. It would be a waste of time, for they are not worth 
a ransom. 

Mrs. Burn, {sitting upon sofa up l. ; crying). Oh, what 
could I have said that would cause this desertion ? 

Mrs. B. There, there— don’t cry, Mrs. Burnett. Our hus- 
bands are neither lost, strayed, nor stolen, but are simply trying 
to show their independence by annoying us. Wait until they 
return — then we'll do the annoying. 

Mrs. Burn. Berhaps they will never return. 

Mrs. B. Oh, yes, they will. 

Enter Pierson, r. d., carrying two papers. 

Mrs. Burn. Oh, Walter ! 

Pierson {aside). By Jove ! ...... , , , 

[Hides the papers behind him and shuts the 
door R. hurriedly . 


4 


50 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Mrs. Burn, {eagerly). Have you seen him ? 

Pierson ( innocently ). Seen him ? Who ? 

Mrs. Burn. My dear husband. 

Pierson. Oh, yes, I saw him 

Mrs. Burn. Where ? 

Mrs. B. Was Mr. Briggs with him ? 

Pierson. Yes, I — I met them last evening. 

Mrs. Burn. Where were they going ? 

Pierson. I — I really can’t say. They had satchels in their 
hands. 

Mrs. Burn. ( tearfully ). Satchels ! Perhaps they have left 
the city. 

Pierson. Yes, business may have called them away, you 
know. 

Mrs. Burn. But why didn’t dear Robert tell me ? He left 
the house at eight o’clock, and it was scarcely an hour before he 
never returned. 

Pierson. Too bad. 

Mrs. B. If business compelled them to leave the city so sud- 
denly, why haven’t they notified us ? 

Pierson. Have you heard nothing ? 

Mrs. B. Not a word. 

Pierson. Strange ! Perhaps you will receive telegrams this 
morning. Yes, I feel confident that you will. 

Mrs. Burn, {dramatically). Oh, Robert, dear Robert ; how 
very near you are 

Pierson {starting and looking at R. d.). Eh ! 

Mrs. Burn. And yet, how far ! He has forsaken me, and it 
is all my fault. 

Pierson. If you will pardon me for agreeing with you, my 
dear madam, I think it is your fault to a very great extent. 
Too much molasses will sicken flies, you know ; likewise 
husbands. 

Mrs. Burn. You should use acid. 

Pierson. But not in large quantity, for acid is poisonous. 
Although inexperienced in household affairs, I should imagine 
that a happy medium between sweetness and acidity is the best 
for preserving matrimonial pairs. Now, if you wish, I will run 
across to “ The Cosmopole ” and see if any messages have been 
received from your husbands. 

Mrs. Burn. You are very kind. 

Pierson. I will be but a moment. {Aside.) I’ll put these 
telegrams in envelopes and pretend that - 1 have brought them 
from their rooms at the “ The Cosmopole.” [Exit Pierson, d. f, 

Mrs. Burn. Walter is right. No doubt I have been too 
gentle with Robert. 

Mrs. B. Perhaps I have been too severe with Benjamin. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 5 1 

Mrs. Burn. Can it be that we have married each other’s 
husbands ? 

Mrs. B. It’s too late now. 

Mrs. Burn. Y es, we cannot exchange, even should we wish to. 

Mrs. B. To think that I might have been a leader in society 

— that I might have set the fashions, instead of Oh, it is 

exasperating. 

Mrs. Burn. But surely your husband is exceedingly proud o i 
you. He is continually praising the extent of your education ; 
and it was only yesterday that he told me that at one time you 
were considered quite a handsome woman. 

Mrs. B. It was sarcasm ; I’m sure it was. He is perpetually 
quarrelling with me and then complains because I seem severe. 

Mrs. Burn. Then why not go to the other extreme ? 

Mrs. B. You mean to be very sweet and loving ? 

Mrs. Burn. Yes. 

Mrs. B. The shock would kill him. 

Mrs. Burn. Oh, no. 

Mrs. B. Besides, that system has proven a failure with your 
husband. 

Mrs. Burn. Yes, but it might prove successful with yours. 

Mrs. B. I’ll try it. It’s worth the experiment at least. 

Mrs. Burn. And I shall test the value of a little severity. 

Enter Pierson, d. f., carrying two telegrams. 

Pierson. Just as I expected. 

Mrs. Burn, {eagerly). You have news ? 

Pierson. Yes. These telegrams arrived just after you left 
home. [ Gives them the telegrams. 

Mrs. B. {opening her telegram ana reading). “ Called sudden 
to Jersey on business.” {Joyfully) Then he is still alive ! 

Pierson {half aside). Possibly. If he has a strong con- 
stitution. 

Mrs. Burn, {opening and reading her telegram). “Impor- 
tant business. Will return Thursday if possible. Don’t worry.” 
But why haven’t I received this message before ? It was written 
in Philadelphia last evening. 

Pierson. Well, you see — a night telegram from Philadelphia 
would come so slowly that it would not reach New York until 
the following morning. 

Mrs. Burn, {to Mrs. B.). I felt confident that our husbands 
had been detained from home by something unforeseen and 
unavoidable. 

Mrs. B. Yes ; and I was foolish enough to suspect that they 
were at some evil resort. I have cruelly misjudged Benjamin. 
{To Pierson.) I came here feeling confident that you knew of 
his whereabouts 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


52 

Pierson (R. ; interrupting). I ? Oh, no, no. I assure you I 
haven’t seen him since 

Enter Briggs, R. d. ; his head is wrapped in a towel j 
Pierson makes violent signs to him to retreat. 

Briggs ( not perceiving Mrs. Briggs or Mrs. Burnett). 
What’s the matter, Walt ? Got a fit ? 

Mrs. B. {severely). Benjamin ! 

Briggs ( starting violently). Gee Whilikins ! 

Mrs. B. Benjamin Briggs ! 

Briggs (weakly). Present — o — or accounted for. 

Enter Burnett, r. d. ; his head is wrapped in a towel also. 

Burnett (not perceiving Mrs. Burnett Mrs. B.). What 
if my wife should see me now ? 

[Exit Pierson, l. d. hurriedly j Burnett sees his wife 
and utters an exclamation , aside. 

Mrs. Briggs. I will try what effect gentleness will have. (To 
Briggs.) My dear, are you ill ? 

Briggs (surprised). Eh ? [Briggs and Mrs. B. converse 

together , L. 

Mrs. Burn, (severely ; to Burnett). What do you mean, 
sir, by this deception ? 

Burnett (surprised at his wife's tones). W — what deception ? 

Mrs. Burn. I’ll teach you to remember your marriage vows. 
Take off that towel. (Burnett hesitates.) Instantly ! 

[Burnett obeys. 

Mrs. Briggs (to Briggs). Oh, I am so sorry, my darling. 
Does your head pain you very badly ? Come, sit upon this sofa. 

[ They sit up on sofa up L. 

Mrs. Burn, (to Burnett). Now, sir, come home. You have 
been away entirely too long. (Taking him by the ear.) Come, 
do you hear ? You’ll be sorry you ran away. You’ll be very 
sorry. [Exeunt Burnett and Mrs. Burnett, d. f. 

Mrs. B. Where did you say that railroad accident occurred ? 

Briggs. In Jersey. 

Mrs. B. What a fortunate thing, my love, that you were 
among the injured. 

Briggs. Eh ? 

Mrs. B. I mean, instead of being killed. 

Briggs. Oh, yes, very fortunate. Did you — did you get a 
telegram from me ? 

Mrs. B. Yes, but I knew that nothing but what was una- 
voidable could keep you from my side. 

Briggs. Eh ? (Half aside.) Great Punk ! 

Mrs. B. (sympathetically). Is the pain so severe ? My poor 
boy ! Let me smooth your head. Ah, yes, please do. (Aside.) 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


53 


Sugar seems to have the desired effect. (To Briggs.) I have 
been so anxious to converse with you in reference to an im- 
portant family matter. 

Briggs {aside). Now I’m going to catch it. 

Mrs. B. It is about Eliza. 

Briggs (greatly relieved). Eliza ? What’s the matter ? Is 
she in debt ? 

Mrs. B. No ; she is in love. 

Briggs. Of course she is. Walter is a mighty fine fellow, 
too, and 

Mrs. B. (interrupting). But it isn’t Walter that she loves. 
Briggs. Eh ? 

Mrs. B. She has confessed everything to me. It is a friend 
of Walter’s. 

Briggs. Not that young English lord ? 

Mrs. B. No, it is the gentleman with the very aristocratic air. 

Briggs. What’s his name ? 

Mrs. B. I do not know, my dear. 

Briggs (starting up angrily). Don’t know, and Eliza pro- 
fesses to love him ? The idea ! And she ain’t knowed him two 
days yet. Well, this is rapid for certain. 

Mrs. B. Yes, but he is a foreigner, my love. 

Briggs. But she is engaged to Walter Pierson. 

Mrs. B. She does not love him. 

Briggs. Perhaps not, but he’s got first mortgage on her 
affection. 

Mrs. B. Think how very distinguished it would be to have 
our daughter marry a foreigner. You know that is an Amer- 
ican girl’s highest ambition. 

Briggs. Not if she don’t even know his name. Like as not 
he’s a gambler or a bank robber. By the way, seems to me he 
give me his card. (Searching through his pockets.) I put it 
in one of my pockets somewhere. Ah, reckon this is it. (Tak- 
ing card from his pocket and giving it to Mrs. B.) What’s the 
rascal’s name ? (Aside.) The idea of his making love to 
Eliza ! 

Mrs. B. ( reading the card). “ Lord Albert Anthony McMul- 
lin ! ” 

Briggs (surprised). Eh ? 

Mrs. B. (enthusiastically). A member of the nobility ! 

Briggs (perplexed). But — but there must be some mistake. 

Mrs. B. A titled peer ! 

Briggs. But, Susan, I — I don’t understand. 

Mrs. B. To think that I am the mother of Lady Eliza Briggs 
McMullin ! 

Briggs. There’s something wrong somewhere. He can’t be 
Lord McMullin. 


54 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Mrs. B. Why? 

Briggs. Because that’s the name of t’other one. 

Mrs. B. Probably they are brothers. 

Briggs. Perhaps ; but they ain’t a bit alike. 

Mrs. B. Then they are cousins. 

Briggs. Of course they are — I hadn’t thought of that. 

Mrs. B. And now, since you know his name and position, 
you certainly will not stand in the way to your daughter’s hap- 
piness. 

Briggs. Well — I don’t want to make no trouble with the 
English. 

Mrs. B. ( throwing her arms around his tieck). Oh, you 
dear ! 

Briggs (surprised). Eh ? 

Mrs. B. You darling ! 

Briggs (aside). Holy smoke ! This is fearful. 

Mrs. B. You are always so kind and considerate. 

Briggs (aside j breaking away). She is going crazy. 

Mrs. B. (trying to etnbrace him). Always the same dear 
husband to your own little wifey ! 

Briggs (staggering j aside). Good Heavens ! I am going 
to faint. [ Staggers up C. 

Mrs. B. You dove, you cherub ! 

Enter McMullin, d. f.; Briggs falls into McMullin’s arms. 

McMullin (supporting Briggs). What’s the matter ? Are 
you ill ? 

Briggs. No — oh, no ; a trifle faint. I was suffocating. 

Mrs. B. Doubtless it is the heaviness of the atmosphere. 
My dear husband is subject to these fainting spells. (Aside to 
Briggs.) Speak to Lord McMullin, my love. 

Briggs. Eh ? Lord McMullin ? (To McMullin.) Oh, 
how de do, my lord ? How are you ? Glad to know you. 
Wife and I was just talking about 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ). Benjamin ! 

Briggs. Eh ? [Mrs. B. and Briggs talk together 

in pantomime. 

McMullin (to Briggs). I would very much enjoy the honor 
of a short interview, at your earliest convenience, Mr. Briggs. 

Briggs. Of course you would — so would I. 

Mrs. B. We shall be pleased to have you call at any time. 

Briggs. Of course we will ; come round now. 

McMullin. You are at leisure ? 

Briggs. Eh ? No ; at “ The Cosmopole.” Our shoestring 
always hangs down for our friends, as the poet says. 

McMullin. Thanks, awfully ; I shall take pleasure in accom- 
panying you. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 55 

Briggs. Good. We can fix everything to suit all parties ; 
I’m sure of it. {Bowing low.) After your worship. 

[Exeunt Mrs. B., McMullin and Briggs, c. d. 

Enter Pierson, d. l. 

Pierson. Ah, they have gone. What will they think of my 
deception ? {Sighing.) It makes little difference, now that 
Margaret distrusts me. It’s only another drop of misery ; that’s 
all. If I knew a way — if I had some one to whom I could go 
for advice. But why not Margaret herself? It is I who am to 
blame for everything. Why not confess and ask her forgive- 
ness ? By Jove ! I’ll do it. It’s the only thing that can save me 
now. [Exit Pierson, r. d.; a slight pause. 

Enter Muggins, d. f. 

Muggins {agitated). Now what’s to be done ? It were Mr. 
Smythe — that’s certain sure. What right has he to come back 
for, when he was a-goin’ to be away a week ? It ain’t actin’ 
like he ought to, nohow. He was walkin’ along just as cool, 
like a cucumber, with a satchel in his hand — a-comin’ from the 
depot, I reckon — when he ought to be in Kalamazoo. I’m 
afeared he’ll spoil all my sport, an’ I was just beginnin’ to enjoy 
myself, too. It ain’t right. This is a free country, an’ it don’t 
make no difference to him if I’m a lord or a — a — billygoat. 
He oughtn’t to never come back — leastways not so sudden like, 
afore I had no time to offer my hand for marrying purposes to 
that heiress. It ain’t right. |Exit Muggins, l. d. 

Enter Eliza and Margaret, d. f. 

Margaret ( vehemently ). It is not true. 

Eliza. But it is. I have been engaged to Walter Pierson for 
two months. 

Margaret. It’s false ! 

Eliza. What ! How dare you ? But I’ll make you suffer 
for all that you have done. I’ll teach you to encourage men 
whose attentions belong to me. You flirt ! You coquette ! 
I’ll make you suffer. 

Enter Pierson, r. d.; sees Margaret and Eliza and starts. 

Eliza. Ah, there he is. {Sarcastically.) There is the pol- 
ished gentleman who steals girls’ hearts only to break them. 
Ask him if what I have said is not true. Ask him. You’re 
afraid. See how noble he appears. But take him. I renounce 
all claim. Take him. And may you be happy. .Ha, ha ! {To 
Pierson.) You hypocrite ! [Exit Eliza, d. f. 

Pierson. Margaret, what has she been saying ? 


5 ^ 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Margaret ( excitedly ). Tell me, is it true ? Have you been 
deceiving me ? 

Pierson. Well — I— I 

Margaret ( interrupting ). Are you engaged to her ? 

Pierson {hesitating). No, not exactly, but 

Margaret. Why do you hesitate ? 

Pierson. I can explain everything, if 

Margaret. Oh, of course you can. 

Pierson. You see, when I thought last summer that you had 
forgotten me, and 

Margaret. I don’t care to hear your explanation. I would 
not believe it. 

Pierson. Then it is useless for me to make one. 

Margaret. Utterly useless. You never cared for me. 

Pierson. Margaret ! 

Margaret. You used me as a toy, and, when you tired of the 
amusement, you jilted me. 

Pierson. Margaret ! 

Margaret. You can’t deny it. 

Pierson. I can and do. If you will listen 

Margaret (interrupting). I don’t wish to hear. 

Pierson. But you must. 

Margaret. I won’t. 

[Exeunt Margaret and Pierson, c. d., Pierson 
trying to reason with her. 

Enter Muggins, d. l., hurriedly , wearing Pierson’s smoking- 
jacket and carrying coat. 

Muggins. Yes, I’ll do it. It’s the only thing as will save 
me. I’ll go to Mr. Smythe an’ explain matters. I’ll take him 
the letter of recommendation he give me, an’ tell him it was his 
fault. ( Throwing coat over chair L. of table R.; takes off 
smoking-jacket and throws it on chair R. of table j is without 
vest.) The game’s up an’ there ain’t nothin’ to do now but to 
confess everything. (Is about to put on his coat.) Hello ! I 
ain’t got on no vest. ( Throws coat over chair left of table R.) 
Yes, I’ll go immediate — beg his parding an’ one thing another. 
It’s my only hope now. [Exit Muggins, l. d. 

Enter Pierson, d. f. 

Pierson. It’s of no use. But if she doubts me when I lie, 
why should she believe me when I speak the truth ? (Sighing.) 
Ah, me ! ( Sees smoking-jacket j takes off his coat and puts it 
on chair R. of table ; putting on smoking-jacket.) Every hope 
has vanished. (Sitting in chair left of table , R.) Where can 
I find help and comfort ? My pipe. (Puts his hand in his 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


57 


pocket y draws forth pipe and the letter he had written to 
Margaret ; starting up excitedly.') Ah, the letter I wrote 
Margaret last summer. Why haven’t I thought of it before ? 
I’ll take it to her immediately. {Takes off jacket j throws it 
on floor.) Surely she will believe me then. ( Puts letter in 
pocket of Muggins’ coat and is about to put it on.) Another 
cravat ! Perhaps my new puff will help to move her. ( Throws 
coat on chair L. of table R.; hurries l. Enter Muggins, l. d., 
hurriedly y they collide.) Pardon, my lord. 

Muggins. Certainly. 

Pierson. I’m in great haste. 

Muggins. So am I. [Exit Pierson, l. d. 

Muggins (putting on his coat). If Mr. Smythe don’t believe 
me — but my recommendation will prove that what I say is true. 
(Feeling in pockets.) Let me see — I mustn’t forget it. ( Takes 
out Pierson’s letter to Margaret.) Eh ! What’s this ! A 
letter to Miss Burnett ! N o w how in the mischief did I get that ? 
I must have picked it up somewhere by mistake. Reckon I’d 
better leave it as I pass. But that recommendation. (Feels in 
pockets and takes out recominendation.) Ah ! Here it is ! 
Now, I’m off, an’ good luck go with me. [Exit Muggins, d. f. 

Pierson. I haven’t a minute to lose. (Putting on coat.) The 
longer Margaret distrusts me, the longer I am in misery. (Feel- 
ing in pockets.) The sooner I can — where did I put that letter ? 
(Searches through pockets , looks on floor , sees jacket , and 
snatching it up searches through the pockets.) It’s of no use 
— it has mysteriously disappeared ‘Sinking dejectedly into 
chair.) Fate is against me. 

Enter Smythe, d. f. 

Smythe. Hello, Walter ! 

Pierson. Where did you come from ? 

Smythe. The railroad depot. 

Pierson. But what brought you home so soon ? 

Smythe. The train. (A pause.) You have very pleasant 
quarters here, old man. 

Pierson. I haven’t found them so. 

Smythe. No ? (A pause.) I — I have come to— to see you 
about — about a little matter. 

Pierson ( indifferently ). Well ? 

Smythe. Lord McMullin dropped in a few minutes ago and 
wished me to — to see you, about — but you don’t like him, do 
you ? 

Pierson. Very much indeed ; he appears a trifle — a trifle 
unpolished perhaps, but he is a most obliging fellow. 

Smythe. But don’t you think it was unkind to play jokes upon 


5 » 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


him ? You could not expect an Englishman to appreciate them, 
you know. 

Pierson. Play jokes ? I don’t know what you mean. 

Smythe. He says that your hospitality was simply outrageous. 

Pierson. What ! The ungrateful ingrate ! Why, I did every- 
thing in my power to please him. I was most respectful and 
attentive, and I simply grovelled at his feet to make him feel 
perfectly at home. 

Smythe. He asserts that you compelled him to pack trunks 
and 

Pierson ( interrupting ). Nonsense ! He requested that as a 
great favor he might be allowed to assist me. 

Smythe. Perhaps he expected you to refuse. 

Pierson. Well, I am not supposed to be acquainted with the 
customs of English society. 

Smythe. You must have done something to offend him. 

Pierson. Absolutely nothing. I received him as my guest ; 
I introduced him to — to my friends. 

Smythe. To your lady friends ? 

Pierson. Yes. 

Smythe. Perhaps he is jealous. 

Pierson. Of whom ? 

Smythe. You. 

Pierson. Impossible. 

Smythe. No, it’s very possible. In fact, that was what he 
wished me to interview you about. 

Pierson. But we talked over the matter when he first came. 

Smythe. He confided in you ? 

Pierson. Certainly ; and I encouraged him to make love to 
the girl. 

Smythe. Oh, there must have been a misunderstanding. 

Pierson. Evidently. 

Smythe. Probably he cares for another girl than the one you 
imagine. « 

Pierson. You don’t think he loves [ Hesitates . 

Smythe. Devotedly. 

Pierson. What ! {Aside.) The idea of his daring to love 
Margaret ! 

Smythe {aside). I fear that duel Lord McMullin threatens 
will have to take place. 

Pierson {struck with a sudden idea). By Jove ! Smythe, this 
is not the young English lord who was attentive to Margaret — 
I — I mean Miss Burnett — while she was abroad ? 

Smythe. Yes, this is the one ; but 

Pierson [interrupting ; vehemently). The scoundrel ! 

Smythe {aside). There is going to be bloodshed, sure. 

Pierson. The impudent beef-eater ! 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


59 


Smythe {aside). I had better find Lord McMullin and per- 
suade him to withdraw his claim. {To Pierson.) Well, old 
man, I must be going. 

Pierson. If you see that infernal 

Smythe {interrupting). Oh, calm yourself, Walter, calm 
yourself. Try to divert your thoughts from this subject. Think 
of something that delights you — your cigars, for instance. I 
don’t mean the ones you give away. Think of your business or 
household cares. How do you like Muggins ? I saw him 
hurrying away from here just now as I approached from the 
other direction, and 

Pierson {angrily). You mean that lazy, worthless, ignorant 
knave ? 

Smythe {surprised). What ! I thought him a trump. 

Pierson. Then why did you turn him down ? He is an 
impudent rascal, and I have dismissed him. 

Smythe. You don’t mean 

Pierson {interrupting ; excitedly). I mean what I say. 

Smythe. Now, Walter, don’t allow yourself to become 
excited. Doubtless, what you have discovered has irritated you, 
but try to be composed. I will do everything possible to arrange 
the difficulty. {Aside.) Anything to prevent a duel. 

[Exit Smythe, d. f. 

Pierson. Oh, how I have been deceived ! I have shared my 
crusts of bread, emptied my bottles of domestic ginger ale, and 
smoked my last cigars with a — a hypocrite. To think that my 
hospitality should be so inhospitably received ! I invited him 
to become my rival with a girl to whom I am engaged to be 
married, and after accepting my invitation he invites himself to 
become my rival with the girl I love. Ah, I understand now 
why he so gladly became my guest. He knew that I was inti- 
mate with the Burnetts, and so thought that as my friend he 
would be the better able to pay his attentions to Margaret. By 
consenting to make love to Eliza, he imagined that I would be 
deceived. And so I was — oh, his plot worked splendidly. But 
he has had his laugh at my expense, now I’ll have mine at his. 
Ha, ha ! We’ll see which will enjoy his merriment the longer. 
Revenge ! I’ll challenge him to a duel with horse pistols across 
a handkerchief. I’ll fill his cowardly heart with bullets. I’ll 
teach him not to be my rival. Revenge ! 

[Exit Pierson, l. d. A slight pause . 

Enter Briggs and Eliza, l. d. 

Briggs. Just as I told you — Walter’s not home. 

Eliza. Then we’ll wait until he returns. 

Briggs. We may have to wait a thousand years. 

Eliza. But I must see him, Dad. 


6o 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


Briggs. Of course you must. If you ain’t going to marry 
him the sooner you break off the engagement the better. 

Enter Pierson, l. d. 

Briggs. Hello, Walt ! We thought you was out. 

Pierson (aside). Good Heavens ! Will my torments never 
cease ? 

Eliza. I want to have a short talk with you, Walter. 

Pierson (aside). I am thankful it is to be short. 

Eliza (sitting by table , L. c.). I want to talk about — about 

[ Hesitates . 

Briggs. His lordship. 

Pierson (sharply). Who ? 

Eliza. Lord Albert Anthony McMullin. 

Pierson. He’s a rascal ! 

Briggs. Eh ? 

Eliza (rising). How dare you speak so? Lord McMullin is 
a gentleman above reproach. 

Briggs. Yes, he’s an English nobleman. 

Pierson (angrily). He is a 

Eliza (interrupting ; vehe?nently). You must not — you shall 
not defame him. An insult to him is one to me. 

Pierson. To you ? 

Eliza (proudly). I love Lord Albert Anthony McMullin. 

Pierson (delighted). What ! Love him ? (Extending his 
hand.) Let me congratulate you. I’m so glad — no, no, I — 
I don’t mean that. (Aside.) Oh, this is too good news to be true. 

Eliza. I have loved him since 

Briggs (interrupting). Of course she has. Ever since she 
learned his title. 

Eliza. Long before. (To Pierson.) Walter, our engage- 
ment must be broken. 

Pierson (overjoyed). Certainly ; without delay. (Altering 
his manner and becoming pathetic.) But do you wish to break 
my heart ? , , 

Eliza. Do you indeed care for me so deeply ? 

Pierson. Words cannot express. 

Eliza (thoughtfully). Perhaps — perhaps I should sacrifice 
myself 

Pierson (interrupting j quickly). Oh, no, no — I could not 
permit it. To know that I had robbed you of happiness, and that 
for my sake you had become a martyr, would cause me exquisite 
anguish. 

Briggs. No, Walter, my daughter can never be yours. 

Pierson (aside). Well, scarcely — since he is her father. 

Eliza. Lord McMullin is so polished 

Pierson (aside). Yes, a polished villain. 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


61 


Eliza. So refined ! 

Pierson [aside). He’s a whited sepulchre. 

Eliza [to Pierson). You will forgive me ? 

[ Extends her hand. 

Pierson [taking her hand). Yes ; but I fear lean never for- 
get .you. May you have long life ; be blessed with contentment ; 
and in your love for another cease to remember an old admirer. 

Enter Burnett, d. f., hurriedly. 

Burnett [somewhat excited). Walter, Walter [Seeing 

Briggs and Eliza.) Oh, I did not know that you were engaged. 

Briggs. He ain’t no more. 

Eliza. Oh, dad ! 

Pierson. We had just ended our — our conversation, you 
know. [ Talks to Eliza up l. 

Briggs [aside to Burnett). How’s your wife been acting 
since you’ve come back ? 

Burnett [aside to Briggs). As bitter as vinegar. 

Briggs [aside to Burnett). Mine’s been as sweet as cider. 

Burnett [aside to Briggs). I prefer cider. 

Briggs [aside to Burnett). I’d rather have vinegar. 

Burnett [aside to Briggs). No more business trips for me. 

Briggs [aside to Burnett). For me neither. 

Eliza [aside to Pierson). Then you will promise never to 
mention our having been engaged ? 

Pierson [aside to Eliza). Certainly, if you will. 

[Exeunt Eliza and Briggs, d. f. 

Burnett [graspuig Pierson by the wrist and leading him 
down C.; mysteriously). Walter, are you aware that you are 
sheltering a scorpion within your bosom ? (Pierson starts , 
and acts as if he thought a scorpion were hidden beneath his 
vest.) You have been cruelly deceived. 

Pierson. Yes, yes ; cruelly. By 

Burnett [interrupting). By a vampire. 

Pierson. Lord McMullin ? 

Burnett. He is an impostor. 

Pierson. I have discovered it. 

Burnett. You have ? And will you allow him to glory in 
his impositions ? To live unpunished ? 

Pierson. Never. 

Burnett. Bravely spoken, sir. He is the man who dared to 
make love to Margaret in Europe. 

Pierson. What ! Oh, the double-dyed villain ! 

Burnett. It was he to whom her engagement was reported. 

Pierson. And who caused me to doubt her faithfulness ? 

Burnett. The same. He has followed her from abroad and 


62 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


has taken a base advantage of the friendship you have proffered 
to 

Pierson interrupting). But why have you not warned me ? 

Burnett. I have just learned of his presence here. 

Pierson ( vehemently ). But his schemes shall not succeed. 

Burnett. Not while the American eagle has breath enough 
to scream. I am a free-born American citizen, and never shall 
daughter of mine bow her neck beneath a British yoke. 

Pierson. And does Margaret care 

Burnett {interrupting). She loves but you, and the poor 
girl is so wretched 

Pierson. Wretched ! 

Burnett. Yes, because she imagined that she had made you so. 

Pierson. And so I am. 

Burnett. When I returned home this morning, I found her 
in tears, and upon questioning her, she vowed that you were 
untrue and that you loved that horrid Briggs girl. 

Pierson, But I do not. I swear it. 

Burnett. How could you ? I told Margaret that she mis- 
judged you, and explained how you had been everlastingly 
annoyed by that girl’s attentions. And then she burst into tears 
again, called herself all the ugly names imaginable, and told 
me how Lord McMullin had followed her to this country. 
(Enter Mrs. Burnett and Margaret, d. f. Seeing them.) 
But here she is in person. Let her speak for herself. 

Margaret {pleadingly ). Oh, Walter, can you forgive me ? 

Pierson. It is I who should crave forgiveness. 

Burnett {aside to Mrs. Burnett). Ahem ! I — It’s a beau- 
tiful day, my dear. [ They go up to window R. F. 

Margaret. I have cruelly misjudged you. 

Pierson. But you misunderstood the circumstances. I owe 
you the acknowledgment that after imagining that you had for- 
gotten me, I became more attentive to Eliza Briggs than I would 
otherwise have been. I thought that you were accepting the 
attentions of that rascally lord who has so imposed upon my 
hospitality. (Enter Muggins, d. f. Seeing Muggins.) By 
Jove ! {To Muggins.) You villain ! 

[Springs at MUGGINS, who is frightened 
and ru?is behind sofa, L. 

Muggins. What’s the matter ? 

Pierson You miserable imposition upon American gene- 
rosity. {Chases him around sofa L., across to tabled, c.) You 
thought to impose upon me, sir, but what do you take me for ? 

Muggins ( frightened ). F — for just what you are, sir. 

Pierson {furiously). That’s an insult, sir. An insult that 
blood alone can efface. 

Margaret ( beseechingly ). Oh, Walter ! 


A RIVAL BY REQUEST. 


63 


[Muggins runs again to sofa l., vaults it , and falling 
upon his knees behind the sofa , clasps his hands im- 
ploringly. 

Pierson. You shall die the death ! 

Enter Smythe, Briggs and Mrs. Briggs, d. f. 

Smythe. Why, Walter, old man, what’s the matter ? 
Muggins. Don’t let him murder me, sir, it weren’t my fault. 
Pierson. He’s a scoundrel ! 

Smythe. What ! I consider him a very valuable servant. 
Pierson. Servant ! 

Enter McMullin and Eliza, c. d. 

Pierson. Servant ! 

Muggins. Y — y — yes, sir. 

Pierson. Servant 1 But — but — I thought you — who — where 
is Lord McMullin ? 

McMullin. Here. 

Pierson [To Muggins). And you — you are ? 

Muggins. M — Muggins, sir. 

Pierson. Well, I have certainly played the fool. 

Briggs. It’s better than the cornet, at any rate, Walter. 
Pierson (to Muggins). Then you — you are my rival. 
Muggins. By request, sir ; by request. 

[Pierson turns to McMullin and makes signs 
of apologizing. 

CURTAIN. 























A Mistake in Identity 


A Sketch 


A MISTAKE. IN IDENTITY 


CHARACTERS. 


Mat Carter, 
Lottie Larkin, 


Of New York. 


SCENE. 

A Ladies’ Sitting-room in a Philadelphia Hotel. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R means right of the stage; G centre; R 0 right centre; L left; 
R D right door; L D left door, etc.; 1 E first entrance; U E upper 
entrance, etc.; D F door in fiat (back of the stage); 1 G first groove, 
etc. The actor is supposed to be faring fhc a> dience. 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY 


Scene. — A ladies' sitting room in a Philadelphia hotel. 

May Carter is discovered sitting by a table G . , reading a book. 

May. What a very uninteresting and improbable book this is; 
And Helen praised it so highly, too. The idea of a man being des- 
perately in love with one girl, and yet, for no particular reason, to 
pay all his attention to another, just because he did not wish the 
girl he loved to know that he cared for her. It is perfectly ridicu- 
lous ! ( Throws the book upon the table G . , and rising goes to the window up 
C.) Oh dear! I wish the rain would stop. Here I have been cooped 
up in this stuffy old hotel for three days. If only the weather would 
clear I might go out, but I don’t dare to venture in the rain with 
this frightful cold. Mamma and I certainly have not accomplished 
much since coming here last week. We have so many calls to pay 
and now she must visit our friends and make my excuses. It seems 
strange that so few have come to see me. Mamma tells everyone 
that although I cannot visit, I shall be glad to see visitors. I have 
absolutely nothing to do. Oh, how I wish it would stop raining. 
( Looking out of the window up C.) Here comes that girl whose face 
seems so familiar. She was staying here when we came. I wonder 
who she is. I feel almost positive that I have met her somewhere, 
but I can recall neither her name nor where we met. I thought she 
was going to speak to me when we passed each other in the hall this 
morning, and I believe she would have, if I had seemed to recognize 
her. ( Going to table C.) Well, I suppose, for want of something 
better to do, I might as well finish this book of Helen’s. ( Takes up 
the book from the table.) Why in the world she recommended it I 
can’t imagine. No; I know what I’ll do. I’ll write Helen a letter. 
But what shall I write about? ( Sits by the table G.) I don’t dare to 
tell her that I have been kept in the house for three days by a bad 
cold; she would make so much fun of me. Helen is such an awful 
tease. She never stops to think whether a thing is really funny or 
not. I don’t know why she should select me as a target for her 
remarks, but she is continually amusing herself at my expense. If 
Fred Stanton enjoys himself in my society, there is no reason why 

3 


4 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY. 


people should talk. It's not his fault; and If I like him, it’s not my 
fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Oh, dear; I wish I knew something to 
tease Helen about. I’ll write her a long letter. Yes, and I’ll tell 
her that I am having a perfectly delightful time, and that every 
minute in the day is occupied in entertaining men — just hosts of 
them. And — and — I’ll ask her if she has seen Fred lately, just to 
make her imagine that I am interested in him. {Takes up a pen 
from the table and dipping it into ink. Looks over the table.) Why, 
there’s not a scrap of paper here. {Rising.) I will get some. I’ll 
need several sheets to fully describe all the men who have called. 
{Exit May Carter, L. JD.) 

Enter Lottie Larkin, R. D. 

Lottie. {Looking about the room.) Why, she isn’t here. I’m 
sure I saw her at the window when I came in. {Laying her coat upon 
a chair up R.) I am determined to speak to her the very first oppor- 
tunity that offers. She doesn’t seem to recognize me, although we 
met at York Harbor only last summer. ( Sits by table C.) I wish I 
could remember her first name. Her surname is Carter. I am pos- 
itive of that; but I don’t know whether this is the May Carter to 
whom Fred Stanton is reported to be engaged, or her cousin. I 
don’t wish to make any embarrassing mistake, yet if this is not May 
I would like to learn if Fred is really engaged to her cousin. {A 
slight pause.) Oh, dear; I wish I had something to read. {Idly takes 
up the book which May left upon the table and turns over the leaves.) 
That looks as if it might be interesting. I wonder who is the 
author. {Turns to fly leaf.) Hello! {Reading.) “Bella Carter.” 
Why, this must be her book, and now I know her name. No doubt 
she can give me the information I desire about her cousin May and 
Fred. {Turning over the pages of the book.) Evidently this is 
where she stopped reading, as the book marker proves. Perhaps 
she has gone out for the morning and I will have time to skim 
through the book before she returns. I have nothing better to do at 
any rate. {Begins to read.) 

Enter May Carter, L. D. 

May. {Perceives Lottie, hesitates , then coughs. Lottie pays no 
attention — aside.) She is reading Bella’s book. {Coughs again.) 

Lot. {Looks up , perceives May and rises hastily.) I — I beg your 
pardon. I have your book, haven’t I? 

May. Oh, I don’t wish it at present. 

Lot. This is Miss Carter, is it not? 

May. Yes; and you are Miss — {hesitates.) 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY. 


5 


Lot. {Interrupting.) I did not think you recognized me. 

May. Oh, yes. 

Lot. Did you, really? 

May. Of course. 

Lot. But you have not spoken. 

May. I thought you did not remember me. 

Lot. But you did. 

May. Really? 

Lot. Of course; perfectly. 

May. It seems strange that we have not met since— since— 
{hesitates.) 

Lot. Since we became acquainted. 

May. Yes. {Aside.) I wonder where that was? 

Lot. Do you expect to return this year? 

May. {Thinking that Lottie means New York.) Oh, yes; next week. 
Lot. {Surprised.) Next week! 

May. Yes 

Lot. Why, there wont be a soul there. 

May. No; everyone is away until after Easter. 

Lot. But — but — 

May. {Interrupting.) I am becoming very tired of being away 
from home. 

Lot. Home! 

May. Yes; I live there, you know. 

Lot. I — I thought you lived in New York. 

May. So I do. 

Lot. But — but I wasn’t speaking of New York. 

May. Oh, weren’t you? I— I beg your pardon. 

Lot. I referred to last summer. 

May. Oh, yes; of course. How stupid in me. 

Lot. My aunt was speaking of you only the other day. 

May. Indeed. {Aside.) I wonder who her aunt is? 

Lot. You remember her, do you not?. 

May. Oh, yes. {Aside.) What an awful fib! 

Lot. She said she met your cousin at a reception not long ago. 
Does Miss Carter go into society much? 

May. A great deal. She is very popular. 

Lot. I have always imagined so. One of her admirers is a great 
friend of mine, and he is continually singing her praises. 

May. {Interested.) Is that so? {Aside.) Perhaps I can learn 
something to tease Bella about. 

Lot. Yes. I should judge from his remarks that he is very devoted. 


6 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY. 


May. Does he talk about her much? 

Lot. About nothing else. 

May. Really? 

Lot. She is his only subject of conversation. 

May. Oh, this is perfectly delightful! Please tell me all about it; 
everything you know. I’ve been trying for so long to find something 
to tease my cousin about. 

Lot. But surely you know when men are attentive to your cousin? 

May. She would never tell me. 

Lot. But you would see. 

May. I ought to, for she is my most intimate friend. She is very 
attractive and has hosts of admirers, but I had no idea that anyone 
was actually in love with her. 

Lot. Now, that’s just like men, isn’t it? When they really care 
for a girl, they try to appear indifferent. 

May. Yes; they are so unreasonable. 

Lot. Perhaps they are afraid of being laughed at. 

May. Probably your friend has tried his best to make my cousin' 
jealous by being attentive to other girls. 

Lot. Yes; and that is really why you have not known that she 
had such a devoted worshipper. It would be precisely like Fred to 
act that way. 

May. Fred! 

Lot. Yes; Fred Stanton. Didn’t I mention his name? 

May. {Rising, agitated.) Fred Stanton! 

Lot. Do you know him ? 

May. Yes — no — I don’t know — I — I think we have met. 

Lot. You seem greatly surprised at the name. 

May. {Nervously .) Yes, yes — I — I am— I am — I — I did not dream 
that he — that he cared for her. 

Lot. Oh, these men! 

May. {Excitedly.) But you must be mistaken. I am sure of it. 
Why — why he — I — I would have known . 

Lot. Don’t you like him ? 

May. Oh, yes; very much. I — I mean he is very nice — very — 
very gentlemanly. 

Lot. {Aside.) Something seems to worry her. 

May. {Aside.) And I imagined that he cared for me. 

Lot. “Men were deceivers ever,” you know. 

May. {Aside.) Oh, to think that he should so deceive me! 

Lot. Fred is such a splendid fellow — so manly. He deserves a 
nice girl, and, as I told him, I approve of his choice. 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY. 7 

May. ( Sarcastically .) No doubt he was delighted to hear it. 
(Sits.) 

Lot. Oh, yes; we are such intimate friends, you know, that he 
tells me everything and asks my advice. 

May. Did he ask for advice in this— this — this case? 

Lot. Yes, indeed. 

May. Perhaps you advised him to pretend that he cared for — for 
a girl, when he really admired my cousin. 

Lot. Oh, no. I advised him to show his colors and devote all his 
attentions to the girl he really cared for. 

May. (Impatiently.) Well, why didn't he? 

Lot. I'm sure I don’t know. I imagined that he did, for he never 
spoke or seemed to think of but one girl. 

May. (Aside.) And I have thought myself that girl. 

Lot. Bye-the-way, I received a letter from Fred yesterday. (Ris- 
ing.) I think I have it in my coat. (Goes up R.) 

May. (Aside.) Oh, wont I make Bella suffer for this! It’s all her 
fault. She has been teasing me about Fred Stanton just so that I 
would not suspect that he cares for her. She knows perfectly well 
that he is in love with her — the nasty, horrid thing. 

Lot. (Searching in her coat pockets.) I am sure I put it in one of 
the pockets. 

May. (Aside.) I’ll write to Bella this afternoon, and tell her just 
what is my opinion of her. 

Lot. Ah! here it is. (Coming down C.) I want to read you some 
extracts. It will give you some excellent points upon which to tease 
your cousin. 

May. (Spitefully.) Oh, wont I tease her, though? 

Lot. (Sitting and glancing over the letter.) Let me see. (Reading 
parts of sentences .) “Have not heard from you — lam quite busy 
doing nothing” — Ah, here is what I am looking for. (Reading.) 
“You are always so ready to give good advice, wont you give some 
now? Yes, about the same subject — the only one that occupies my 
thoughts. How am I to learn if the girl loves me?” 

May. (Impatiently.) Why doesn’t he ask her ? 

Lot. Because he fears she does not care for him. Fred describes 
himself as being bashful as a kitten. 

May. (Sneeringly .) Bashful! 

Lot. Don’t you think he is? 

May. (Rising, angrily.) He is an insulting, forward, fickle flirt. 

Lot. (Surprised.) Why, what do you mean? 


8 


A MISTAKE IN IDENTITY. 


May. He is a base deceiver! 

Lot. {Rising.) I wont allow you to speak so of my friend. 

May. I hate him! He tried to make me care for him! 

Lot. You! 

May. And all the while he cared for Bella! 

Lot. {Perplexed.) Bella! 

May. {Beginning to cry.) Oh, how I wish — how I wish I had 
known. 

Lot. But — but I — I don’t understand. 

May. {Crying.) Bella should have told me. 

Lot. {Aside.) Is it possible that I have made a mistake? {To 
May.) Is — is Bella your cousin’s first name? 

May. Yes. 

Lot. {Agitated.) A — and yours? 

May. May. 

Lot. Oh! {Sinks into a chair.) What have I done? What have I 
said ? Can you forgive me ? 

May. I am very glad you told me the truth. 

Lot. But — but it wasn’t the truth! 

May. What! 

Lot. Yes — it was, it was; but I — I made a great blunder — a ter- 
rible mistake. 

May. {Eagerly.) You mean that Fred Stanton does not love my 
cousin? 

Lot. Not in the least. 

May. Does he— does he care for — {hesitates.) 

Lot. For you. 

May. {Delighted.) Me! 

Lot. I thought your name was Bella. Oh, how awfully stupid 
in me. 

May. {Magnanimously.) Oh, no; not at all. It was a case of mis- 
taken identity, nothing more. But did — did Fred — I — I mean Mr. 
Stanton really say all those nice things about me? 

Lot. All, and many more. 

May. And are you sure he doesn’t care for Bella? 

Lot. Positive. 

May. ( With a sigh of satisfaction.) Oh, I am so delighted to have 
met you. {They clasp hands affectionately.) 


Curtain. 


Not at Home 


A Sketch 


NOT AT HOME. 


CHARACTERS. 


j Reginald Buckthorne. 
( William B. Hastie. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R means right of the stage; (/centre; R C right centre; L left; 
R D right door; L D left door, etc.; 1 E first entrance; U E upper 
entrance, etc.; JD F door in flat (back of the stage); 1 O first groove, 
etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience. 


NOT AT HOME. 


Enter Hastie. 

Hastie. Evidently that maid servant likes me. A proof that the 
almighty dollar is monarch of all. She is politeness personified. 

( Takes off coat.) Well, when you are courting a girl it’s a good 
thing to have a friend in the family. ( Looks at watch.) Twelve 
minutes of eight. The maid said Miss Burton would be sure to re- 
turn by eight. I have just twelve minutes to think over what I am 
about to do. (Sits.) Twelve minutes and then farewell bachelor- 
hood — that is, if Helen will have me. She has certainly acted lately 
as if she loved me; so kind and gracious. The way a man proposes 
is everything. If I only knew what would be the most acceptable. 
Let me see. (Rising.) I might stand by the mantelpiece in a very 
thoughtful mood. (Goes to mantelpiece.) Then she would ask, 
“Why are you so sad this evening?” No, I musn’t be sad. Quiet, 
but not sad. “Why are you so quiet?” I would pause for a mo- 
ment and then reply, very impressively, “Miss Burton, there is some- 
thing I have longed for a long time’’ — no, that’s too long. “Miss 
Burton, I hesitate” — (Stops and listens.) Was that the door bell? 
(Runs to window.) Only a man with a book under his arm — some 
book agent. A perfect nuisance, those fellows. . (Coming down stage.) 
I fear I am not earnest enough. (Takes coat and puts it over chair - 
back.) I should flatter her, too. All girls like flattery. “How 
beautiful you are to-night. You are like a — a star — a planet. ( Sink- 
ing upon his knees.) Would that you were forever the ‘Aurora Bore,' 
Helen, of my heart!” All I needed was inspiration. (Grasping coat 
sleeve. “Speak to me! Do not turn away!— else you will drive me to — 
say—” 

Buckthorns sticks his head in at door. Hastie sees him , begins 
whistling and pretends he was cleaning his coat. 

Buckthorne. A — a — good evening. (Enters.) 

Hastie. (Embarrassed.) How are you? 

Buck. Thanks, excellently well. 

Hastie. (Aside.) The book agent. (Rises.) 

3 


4 


NOT AT HOME. 


Buck. Fine day. 

Hastie. Yes; a beautiful night. 

Buck. Ye-es; very nice weather. 

Hastie. {Aside.) A book agent, beyond a doubt. “The weather’* 
is a sure sign. {Goes to window.) 

Buck. Awfully sorry that fellow’s here. I can’t propose to Miss 
Burton before company. I believe that maid servant doesn’t like 
me. I really can’t say why not. She says Miss Burton wont be 
home for at least an hour and advised me not to remain. I really 
can’t say why not. Perhaps it’s because I come so frequently. I 
was here last night until half past eleven, so I had to have an 
excuse for coming this evening. {Points to book.) I think that an 
awfully good one. Miss Burton is so fond of poetry. I have under- 
lined everything relating to love and the heart. {Opens book and 
reads.) “Sly Cupid’s dart hath pierced my heart” — 

Hastie, looking out window , coughs. Buckthobne drops book. 

Buck. I wish that fellow would depart. {Picks up book and puts 
it on the table.) I prefer to ask Miss Burton to marry me secretly — I 
— I mean I prefer to ask her secretly. I wonder whether she is really 
out, or only “not at home.” {To Hastie.) I — I say — (H astie pays 
no attention.) I say, you know, can you inform me if a— a— any of 
the household are at home? 

Hastie. I don’t know. Why didn’t you ask the maid? 

Buck. I did, you know, and she said she was out. 

Hastie. Who, the maid? 

Buck. No — a— yes, the maid. {Sits.) 

Hastie. {Aside.) This fellow has less intelligence than the major- 
ity of book agents. {Takes up book.) A book of poems. Evidently 
a sample copy, it is so scratched up. Poetry is a good thing for a 
lover. (To Buck.) What do you ask for this? 

Buck. I — I beg pardon? 

Hastie. What’s your price? 

Buck. {Aside.) The impudent rascal, to ask me how much I 
said for it. 

Hastie. How much? 

Buck. I wont tell you, sir. 

Hastie. Eh? 

Buck. That volume is invaluable, sir. {Rises.) 

Hastie. Oh, no doubt; but what will you take for it? 

Buck, Nothing. 


NOT AT HOME. 


5 


Hastie. Oh, no. I prefer to pay for it. 

Buck. But it is not for sale. 

Hastie. {Provoked.) I didn’t suppose you sold your samples. 
Where’s your stock? 

Buck. I have nothing to sell. 

Hastie. {Angrily.) No books to sell? Then why did you come 
around here? 

Buck. I’m not a book agent, sir. 

Hastie. You’re not? 

Buck. No; I — I came to visit — a — a — the family, you know. 

Hastie. Well, why didn’t you say so? {A pause. Aside.) Can 
he be a rival? {Sits.) 

Buck. {Aside.) I wonder who this fellow is? {To Hastie.) You 
are a friend of the family, I presume? 

Hastie. A very intimate friend. 

Buck. Ah! Can you tell me if Miss Burton is — 

Hastie. {Interrupting.) No, I can’t. {Aside.) A rival; that’s 
certain. 

Buck. Thanks. I — I didn’t know, you know. {Sits.) 

Hastie. {Aside.) I believe he is the Englishman Helen is always 
praising. 

Buck. And can you inform me if she — a — {Hesitates.) 

Hastie. Why do you ask? 

Buck. I— I really can’t say . 

Hastie. Look here, my friend, if I were you I wouldn’t take 
such an interest in Miss Burton. 

Buck. Why, have I a rival? 

Hastie. You most certainly have. 

Buck. May I ask his name? 

Hastie. The name is of no consequence. 

Buck. Oh, but it is, you know. I thought perhaps he might be 
the man Miss Burton praises so continually. 

Hastie. {Interested.) Praises him, does she? What is his name? 

Buck. I— I think it’s Swift. 

Hastie. {Aside.) Never heard of him. Another rival. {To 
Buckthorne.) Yes, that is the man. 

Buck. Does Miss Burton 1 — love him? 

Hastie. Oh, yes. {Aside.) I hope not, I’m sure. 

Buck. And you think there is no hope for me? 

Hastie. None in the world; unless— yes, that’s a good idea— 
you kill Swift. 


6 


NOT AT HOME. 


Buck. K — kill him! 

Hastie. Yes. Cast your gauntlet at his feet. Challenge him 
to a duel. ( Aside .) That’s the best way to get rid of both. 

Buck. But — a — I say, you know, what sort of a fellow is this 
Swift? 

Hastie. A very slow sort of a chap. 

Buck. Is he a big man? 

Hastie. Oh, no — come up to about your shoulder. 

Buck. Then I decline to fight him. I never fight a little man . 

Hastie. Oh, but you must. 

Buck. Must I? 

Hastie. Yes; for your honor, you know. 

Buck. I had forgotten my honor. I’ll do it. (Hastie. Good!) 
That is, I— I think I’ll do it. Yes, I will do it. (Rises.) My honor 
must be avenged. 

Hastie. Very bravely spoken, sir; I’ll be your second. 

Buck. Thanks awfully. 

Hastie. How will next Thursday suit you ? The sooner the better. 

Buck. I — I am afraid I will be too busy for the next week or two. 
If it had been yesterday. 

Hastie. Well, we will leave the date to Swift. What is the 
name of my principal? 

BiTck. Reginald Buckthorne. (Sits.) 

Hastie. You’ll have no difficulty with Swift, with such a 
name, sir. 

Buck. Thanks. And what shall I call my second? 

Hastie. My name is Hastie, sir — Wm. B. Hastie. (Buck starts.) 
What’s the matter? 

Buck. (Rising.) You’re the man! 

Hastie. What man? 

Buck. My rival, Swift. 

Hastie. Impossible. My name’s not Swift. 

Buck. No; but I — I made a mistake. Hastie was the name; not 
Swift. 

Hastie. Look here, Buckthorne; I’m tired of stale jokes upon 
my name. 

Buck. I— I'm not joking. Don’t be hasty. 

Hastie. (Rising. Angrily.) There you go again. What do 
you mean, sir? 

Buck. I don’t mean anything. (A pause.) I — I suppose I must 
fight you. 


NOT AT HOME. 


7 


Hastie. Oh, I don’t know. 

Buck. But, my honor. 

Hastie. Oh, hang your honor! 

Buck. Sir! You insult me! I — I’m no coward! ( Takes off glove 
and throws it at Hastie’s/^.) I challenge you to mortal combat. 

Hastie. Now, Buckthorne, I — I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll 
forgive you. 

Buck. But I wont forgive you. Are you afraid to fight? 

Hastie. Afraid! Who dares say so? 

Buck. I — I didn’t say so. I just thought perhaps you might be, 
you know. 

Hastie. Well, if you wish to be killed. 

Buck. But I don’t. 

Hastie. If you fight with me, there is only one conclusion. 

Buck. What weapon are you going to kill me with? 

Hastie. (Aside.) I wish I knew if he is a good swordsman. (To 
Buck.) Which do you prefer, sword or pistol? (Aside.) I’ll choose 
the other. 

Buck. Neither. 

Hastie. (Aside.) That doesn’t give me much choice. (To Buck- 
thorne.) Are you a good swordsman? 

Buck. Not very. 

Hastie. (Aside.) He may be deceiving me. I must find out in 
some way. (To Buckthorne.) By the American code there are 
certain preliminaries to a duel. (Takes pencils from pocket and gives 
one to Buckthorne. This is to determine the nature of the weapon 
to be used. (Buckthorne takes paper from pocket and awaits instruc- 
tions. Hastie strikes attitude.) En garde, sir! (Buckthorne takes 
notes.) En garde, sir! (Makes a thrust at Buckthorne, who awk- 
wardly tries to ward it off.) En garde, sir! (Another thrust.) 

Hastie. (Aside.) Very good. I will choose swords. (Picks up 
glove.) 

Buck. What a wicked look in his eyes! 

Hastie. Well, Mr. Reginald Buckthorne, I accept your challenge. 
The weapons shall be swords. 

Buck. (Aside.) I am a dead man sure. (Sits.) 

Hastie. (Sitting. Aside.) I don’t want to fight this man. He 
might kill me by accident. He seems as innocent as a lamb. I 
wonder if I can arrange this duel without my being in it? 

Buck. When am I to be killed? Next Thursday? 

Hastie. Yes. My substitute will be on hand . 


8 


NOT AT HOME. 


Buck. Your substitute! 

HA8TIE. Yes. By the American code a man must accept a chal- 
lenge; but if he considers his antagonist unworthy of his steel he 
may appoint a substitute. 

Buck. But I say, you know, is that exactly fair? 

Hastie. Fair! I shall inform my substitute that you accuse me 
of dishonesty, sir. 

Buck. But I object, you know. 

Hastie. No objections, or I will send two substitutes. 

Buck. Is that in the American code? 

Hastie. Certainly it is. Now, should my substitute kill you — 
and there is no doubt of it, for he is a professional — then, of course, 
I will marry Helen Burton. 

Buck. But suppose I should chance to kill him? 

Hastie. I will marry her just the same. 

Buck. It seems to me, you know, you have all the privileges and 
I all the risk. 

Hastie. (Aside.) Just what I want. 

Buck. (Aside.) Too much of a lottery game. The odds are too 
great. Why should not I take advantage of the American code? 

Buck. (lb Hastie.) Well, sir, my substitute will meet yours 
next Thursday and — 

Hastie. (Interrupting.) Your substitute! 

Buck. Yes — American code, you know. 

Hastie. But, Buckthorne, I object. 

Buck. Oh, but you can’t, you know. I — I’ll send half a dozen 
substitutes if you do. 

Hastie. (Aside.) The fellow is not as innocent as I imagined. 

Buck. I— I’ve just been thinking. Suppose my substitute should 
kill yours, or yours kill mine, or they kill each other — what then? 

Hastie. Well, then your honor will be avenged— and I will mairy 
Helen. 

Buck. I don’t know about that. I think I’ll do the marrying. 

Hastie. I think not. Why should you? 

Buck. Because I love her. Why should you? 

Hastie. Because she loves me. 

Buck. Loves you! What proof have you? 

Hastie. The very best proof. (Takes letter from pocket.) In 
black and white. 

Buck. Does she write you that? 

Hastie. Certainly. Do you want to hear it? 


NOT AT HOME. 


9 


Buck. No! Decidedly, no! But — a — well, go ahead. 

Hastie. {Reads.) “My dear Mr. Hastie. Thank you so very 
much for the lovely flowers you so kindly sent me.” 

Buck. (Aside.) Just hold on a moment. ( Takes letter out of 
•pocket and opens it.) 

Hastie. (Reading.) “Why is it you never come to see me? You 
know I love”— (To Buckthorne.) There, sir. What more do you 
wish? You hear — she loves me. 

Buck. Oh, but read on. (Reads from his letter.) “To see you” — 
“You know I love to see you.” 

Hastie. Eh? She writes that to you! Let me see it. ( They 
exchange letters.) 

Buck. They are precisely the same. 

Hastie. What can this mean? When did you receive yours? 
Buck. Yesterday morning. 

Hastie. I received mine yesterday afternoon. 

Buck. Then she must have copied yours from mine. 

HASTIE. (Rising.) Why, this is outrageous! 

Buck. (Rising.) It is monstrous! 

Hastie. We have been most shamefully treated. 

Buck. We have indeed. To think that I have wasted my affec- 
tions on this a — icicle. 

Hastie. A flirt! 

Buck. A coquette! And we have quarreled over such a woman. 
Hastie. Buckthorne, I ask your pardon. 

Buck. And I yours. 

Hastie. My substitute shall be called off. 

Buck. Thanks awfully. So shall mine. (They grasp each other's 
hand. ) 

Hastie. Rivals once- 
Buck. But comrades now. 

Hastie. Let us act in unison in this matter. 

Buck. How ? 

Hastie. Get some refreshments. 

Buck. A good idea. Then I propose — 

Hastie. (Quickly.) And I accept. (They walk out arm in arm.) 


Curtain. 
























































































































• * 


•/ 















Monologues 



HIS WEDDING MORN 


Scene: A gentleman’s dressing-room. 

Character: A young man. 

Properties: Watch, three linen shirts, a jewel box, 
hair-brush, Prince Albert coat and vest, light cravat, 
collar button, a pair of tan gloves. 

Entering. ( With a coat and vest over his arm 
and a watch in his hand. He is in his shirt-sleeves 
Talks nervously throughout. Looking at his watch.') 
Eleven o’clock ! By Jove ! Only an hour, and I’m 
not half dressed yet. ( Calling) Muggins ! I 
wonder where that rascal is. ( Throws coat and vest 
across chair.) He’s never around when wanted. 
{Calling again) Muggins! {Bustles to bureau. Puts 
down his watch and opens drawers nervously and with- 
out object.) Well, I can’t wait for him. I’ll have to 
dress myself. ( Turns toward door.) Ah, Muggins ! 
There 3'ou are. I’ve been calling you a half-hour 
or more. Bring some warm water. I want to shave. 
{As if in reply) Yes; make haste. Eh? I have 
shaved? {Looks in the mirror above bureau.) By 
jingo ! so I have. I quite forgot it. Did you get 
out my shoes ? Yes ; the new patent leather ones. 
{As if in reply) Eh? {Looks at his feet.) Why, so 
they are! I don’t remember putting them on. 

7 


8 


HIS WEDDING MORN 


All right. Stay within call. (Turning to bureau .) 
Strange, that I should be so forgetful this morning. 
I don’t feel a bit nervous. (Begins to brush his hair.) 
Great Scott! I haven’t changed my shirt yet. 
(Opens the bureau drawers nervously and takes out three 
shirts , one after another. Examining one.) Entirely too 
much starch. (Examining another.) Not enough. 
(Examining another.) Ah! this will do. Yes; I 
distinctly remember putting this one aside a week 
ago. (Opens the top drawer and searches hurriedly.) 
I’m sure those studs are here somewhere. (Snatch- 
ing up a jewel box.) Ah! I knew it. (Opens the box 
and finds nothing but cotton.) Why — why, how’s this ! 
Can they have been stolen ! ( Catching sight of him- 

self in the mirror.) By Jove! I have them on. (Is 
about to take the studs out of his shirt, then stops.) No — 
I remember now. This is a clean shirt I am wear- 
ing. (Brushes his hair nervously.) I wish I hadn’t 
such a frightful cowlick. Why didn’t nature place 
it on the back of my neck instead of on my forehead ? 
There’s another — right on the crown, too. I don’t 
remember having noticed that one before. If I were 
at all frightened I would think — but what nonsense ! 
I’m sure it will distract my attention all through the 
ceremony. The people will think I forgot to brush 
my hair. (Brushing the obstinate cowlick viciously.) 
There! If only it will stay down. (Laying down 
brush.) Now what next? I’m all ready for my 
coat and vest, I think. (Looks at watch.) Eleven 
fifteen. Goodness gracious! I must make haste. 
(Hurriedly takes up vest from the chair where he had 


HIS WEDDING MORN 


9 


thrown it.) It would be simply frightful if I should 
be late. Mary would never forgive me. Perhaps 
she would even refuse to marry me. What time 
was it ? ( Looks at watch again.) Seventeen and a 

half minutes past. Only forty-one minutes until 
the bridal party enters the church. No ; only thirty- 
one. (. Putting on the vest and buttoning it.) But 
I’m almost ready now. ( Catches sight of himself in 
the mirror.) Confound that cowlick! ( Vigorously 
brushes his hair.) There ! Now for the coat. {Put- 
ting on coat.) I think it will create quite a sensa- 
tion. ( Examining himself admiringly in the mirror.) 
It cost enough. We might have made our honey- 
moon a couple of days longer if I hadn’t — By Jove ! 
I’ve forgotten to change my cravat. I’ll forget my head 
next. ( Takes off coat and vest and throws them across a 
chair. Opens the top drawer of the bureau and takes out a 
light cravat.) Here it is. Just where I put it. It’s a 
wonder it hadn’t hidden itself under the sofa. {Is 
about to put the cravat around his neck. Then notices 
that he has one on. Places the other on the bureau and 
takes off the cravat he is ivearing.) Perhaps I had better 
change my collar, too. This one may have become 
soiled. ( Takes off the collar and supposedly drops the 
collar button.) Confound it! The Fates must be 
against me. {Searching around on the floor. ) Why 
is it, I wonder, that collar buttons are in league with 
evil spirits ? {Kneels and searches under sofa , bureau , 
etc. Looking up at the door.) Hello, Charlie ! I’ve 
lost my collar button. {In reply) Yes, I know it’s 
late, but that didn’t prevent my losing it. I wish it 


10 


HIS WEDDING MORN 


had. Eh? Yes, I — I may have another some- 
where. ( Rises — goes to the bureau and searches through 
the top drawer .) Here’s one; but I’m not sure 
whether it’s gold or — ( In reply ) No, perhaps it 

doesn’t matter much, since no one will see it. ( Puts 
collar button in his shirt.) What time is it? Half- 
past eleven ! Oh, your watch must be wrong ! Yes, 
I’m sure of it. ( Looking at his own watch.) It’s 
only twenty-eight minutes after. (In reply) I am 
hurrying as fast as I can. I’m almost ready. 
( Holding out coat toward him.) If you’ll just help 
me on with my coat. ( In reply) Eh ? My collar 
and cravat ? Oh ! — yes, of course. ( Puts on the collar 
he had taken off. Takes up the cravat he had taken off \ 
then sees his mistake — throws it down and puts on the 
light cravat.) Did you get the ribbon ? — How many 
yards? — What! Why, that won’t be half enough. 
You ought to have a hundred at least. ( In reply) 
No — it isn’t nonsense. You ought to think of these 
things. There’s no reason for you to be nervous, 
just because you happen to be the best man. I’m 
not nervous. ( In reply) No, I’m not. I would as 
soon be married as — as eat my dinner — in fact, a 
good deal sooner. ( In reply) I am hurrying. 
(Finishes putting on his cravat.) There; I’m ready. 
(In reply) Eh ? Oh, yes ! — I had quite forgotten the 
coat. (Putting on the coat.) It’s strange how my 
memory seems to — (In reply) What? I have my 
vest on. (Sees that he has forgotten it.) By George ! 
(Takes off coat and puts on his vest.) Now — kindly 
tell me — is there anything left for me to do before 


HIS WEDDING MORN 


11 


putting on my coat ? I don’t wish to be interrupted 
again. ( Puts on coat ) How do I look? I thought 
you would admire the fit. ( Looking in the mirror .) 
Will that cowlick never give me peace? ( Brushes 
hair vigorously.') Now. Is the hair down on the 
top of my head? Very well then, I’m ready. One 
moment — I’ve forgotten my gloves. ( Takes a pair of 
tan gloves from the bureau drawer. Takes up watch 
from bureau.) Why, there’s lots of time. It’s only 
twenty minutes of twelve. ( Puts the watch in his 
pocket.) Now. (Goes toward door — as if with his arm 
through “ Charlie’s .” Stops.) By the way — did I put 
on my vest ? I thought so. ( Bending his head as if 
for inspection.) Is that cowlick down, or up ? All 
right. What makes you so nervous? I’m not a 
bit so. 

EXITS 


HIS FIRST CASE 


Scene: A parlor. 

Character: A very young physician. 

Properties: Hat, cane, overcoat, and book. 

Without. (To the maid) Yes. Dr. Sprout. Mrs. 
Smith sent for me, you know. 

Entering. ( Carries his hat and cane in his hand. 
Wears a light overcoat.) Just to think. I have been 
called to attend a case at last. I wonder whether it’s 
a man, woman, or child. ( Calling out the door) I 
say, Mary, Susan, Jane — whatever your name is — 
come back here ! She’s gone. I made a mistake in 
not posting myself. But if that’s my most serious 
blunder, I’ll have reason to be encouraged. ( Places 
hat and cane upon a chair. Thoughtfully.) If it’s 
a woman, she is sure to he troubled with a sick 
headache or the grippe. A woman never has a cold 
now-a-days ; it’s always the grippe. (Sitting.) A 
man will have gout, rheumatism, or dyspepsia. 
(Taking a hook from his overcoat pocket and opening it.) 
But if it’s a child (turns the leaves of the book a moment 
and then shuts it hurriedly) then may good fortune 
help me, for an infant might have all the ills that 
flesh is heir to and yet not know it, and if the 
patient can’t say what’s the matter, hang me if I can ! 

12 


HIS FIRST CASE 


13 


Perhaps that ability may come with experience 
and practice, but they are just what I lack — espe- 
cially practice. The only kind of patients (patience) 
I’ve had so far has been of the immaterial order, and 
I. am rapidly losing that since the material type is so 
slow in putting in an appearance. ( Turning over the 
j pages of the book ) “ Rheumatism.” Yes, I know that. 
“ Gout.” I wish I had the Materia Medica here. 
“ Nervousness.” ( After hurriedly glancing over the 
page) Yes, just what I would prescribe. “Chil- 
dren’s diseases.” Great punk! Half the book is 
devoted to that subject alone. ( Hearing some one 
enter , rises and hides the book behind him. lo the lady 
who has supposedly entered) Oh, how do you do, Mrs. 
Smith. ( In reply) Yes, that is my name — Dr. Sprout. 
I — I trust you — you are not seriously ill. ( Secretly 
puts the book in his pocket) No? I — I thought per- 
haps you might have a slight attack of — of the 
grippe. It is so prevalent i L , present, you know. 
Yes? I’m glad you have escaped. May I ask what 
is the trouble? Nothing? No, no, of course not. 
Your husband — eh? Oh! the baby? {Aside) By 
Jove! Just what I feared. (To Mrs. Smith, as the 
nurse supposedly enters with the baby) Ah, yes ! here is 
the cherub. What a sweet little girl it is! Eh? 
Boy? Why, of course. I hadn’t noticed its nose. 
{In reply) Yes, it will be just as well for the nurse to 
withdraw, I think. ( The nurse supposedly exits) I — I 
would prefer speaking with you alone. The child 
seems to be very quiet just at present ; has it been — 
been suffering to any great extent? You don’t say? 


14 


HIS FIRST CASE 


Too bad ! How long has it been asleep ? Ten min- 
utes. That’s important. You’re quite sure it hasn’t 
been fifteen ? Well, a— a — what — what do you think 
is the ailment, Mrs. Smith? Colic? Think not? 
Perhaps it is teething. Only three months old? 
That would be an unusual case. Then it must be 
colic. Yes, I’m quite sure of it. Notice the — the 
lines about its mouth. I am very glad you sent for 
me, Mrs. Smith. If you had called me in twenty- 
four hours later the consequences might have proven 
serious. As it is, I can scarcely be sure — oh ! don’t 
be frightened. I’ll bring the child around all right 
in the course of a day or two. Such cases are very 
common. But I have never yet lost one. Eh? 
( Backing away as Mrs. Smith supposedly asks him to take 
the baby for a few moments ) Beg pardon ? But, madam, 
I — I would really prefer not to take it. I — I — yes, 
but — (having the baby forced into his arms) if you 
really must go, please don’t be long. (Mrs. Smith 
supposedly exits.) I wish she would remember to do 
things before I arrive. (Looking at the baby supposedly 
asleep in his arms.) I wonder if it really has the colic 
or only — By Jove ! it’s waking ! (Rocking it in his 
arms.) Shew ! Go to sleep again, please do, that’s a 
good boy. Shew ! Hush ! Hush ! Confound you, 
keep quiet ! Yes, I’m sure now that it has the colic. 
Shew ! What in the deuce am I to do with it? Not 
being a father, I am not accustomed to such situa- 
tions. Shew ! (Rocking it violently in his arms up and 
down and back and forth. Singing.) Go to sleep — my 
little baby — little baby — go to sleep. While your 


HIS FIRST CASE 


15 


mother — rocks the cradle — go to — sleepy baby — 
sleep. Oh, you cutchy, wutchy darling ! Did oo have 
a little pain? Yes, oo did. ( Severely ) If you don’t 
stop your confounded yelling I’ll put you down on 
the sofa and sit on you. That would suppress you. 
(Shaking it .) Did you hear me? I’ll squeeze all 
the breath out of your wretched little body. I’ll — 
Oh ! Mrs, Smith, I — I didn’t know — (Mrs. Smith 
supposedly tries to take the baby.) Look out, you’ll 
make me drop it. I — I beg pardon. I didn’t intend 
anything wicked really. Oh ! now, Mrs. Smith, it’s 
rather severe to call me an ogre. I — I was only in 
jest. (Mrs. Smith supposedly again tries to snatch the 
baby from his arms.) Look out ! Look out, I say ! 
(Supposedly drops the baby.) There! I knew you 
would make me drop the thing. Eh ? It wasn’t my 
fault. (Retreats behind table , chairs , etc.) No, it wasn’t. 
I didn’t want it in the first place. But if the child 
departs this life — Eh? A murderer? No, I’m 
not. (Dodges around the room , Mrs. Smith supposedly in 
pursuit. Snatches up hat , overcoat , and cane.) No one 
can say that I ever lost a case. 


THE SOLDIER’S RETURN 


Scene: An attic room — very poorly furnished. Door 
l. Window in flat, c. Table, middle c. A cradle 
down r. 

A poor man is drafted for service and compelled to 
join the army, leaving behind a wife and infant 
child. She has struggled to make a living, but finally, 
through sickness and lack of work, is brought to the 
verge of starvation. Upon the morning of the day 
that she is to be turned out of her attic room, 
being greatly behind in the payment of rent, she 
learns that her husband’s regiment is expected home. 
It is from this point that the monologue begins. 

The Poor Woman Enters. 

(Speaks out the door entreatingly ) But I can’t pay 
the rent this morning. Give me until to-morrow. 
I have tried so hard to raise the money, but no one 
will give me work. (A slight pause.) Yes, yes; I 
can pay to-morrow. The regiment my husband be- 
longs to returns to-day — see ; the paper says so. 
(Points to the newspaper.) He will pay everything I 
owe. I am sure he will. Oh, please, please ! For 
my child’s sake, have pity. Don’t turn us out into 
the cold. Just till to-morrow. This afternoon — wait 
16 


THE SOLDIER’S RETURN 


17 


until this afternoon. Tom will be home then. Have 
mercy ! ( After a pause.) Oh, thank you —thank you 
from the bottom of my heart ! (After a slight pause.) 
Yes, I know that I do not deserve it. You have 
been very good to me. ( Closes the door and crosses to 
the table , c.) Life has been so hard since Tom left. 
Oh ! why is war necessary ? It brings such suffering ; 
so much sorrow. (Goes to the cradle down r. and 
kneeling beside it, talks to the baby.) Two years ago, 
little Tom ; just think, two whole years since he was 
forced to leave us. How lonely we have been with- 
out him, haven’t we? But how very desolate it 
would have been if we had not had one another. 
And yet, sometimes — sometimes when we have been 
almost starving, and so cold, so very cold, I have 
thought that if I should go away too, perhaps you 
would be happier. (Thoughtfully.) What was it the 
gentleman at the Home said? “ If your child had 
no parents we could take him, but while you and 
your husband live we cannot support what it is your 
duty to care for.” If you should lose your mother, 
little Tom, then kind people would take charge of 
you, and you would have plenty to eat and nice 
clothes to wear — and — and (choking with emotion) 
Oh ! it would be terrible to give you up. No, no ; I 
could not. Not so long as Tom lives. But how 
foolish of me to talk so ! Why, I was almost crying. 
The idea ! The very day that your father is coming 
home. How proud he will be of you ! And how 
proud you will grow to be of him, for he is the best 
man in all the world. You can never know how 
2 


18 


THE SOLDIER’S RETURN 


much I love him, little Tom. You can never know. 
( Rocks the cradle and sings a lullaby — such as “ Sleep, 
baby, sleep. The large stars are the sheep”) { Thought - 
fidly.) If anything had happened to him I would 
not wish to live. But, thank Heaven, he has been 
preserved. Every day I have searched the list of 
wounded and dead, but his name has not ap- 
peared. And now he is coming home. ( Takes up 
the paper.) Ah, there have been many broken hearts, 
but mine has been spared. {Looks at the paper.) Yes, 
there will be many vacant places in the ranks. See, 
here is the list of those who have been wounded. 
Yes; so many familiar names. {Reading.) “John 
Harper.” Poor Jack ! We used to be playmates. 
{Reading.) “ Henry Carlisle.” How his wife will 
miss him — poor woman ! And here are those who 
have fallen. {A pause, while she reads the names to her- 
self.) Thank Heaven, there are but few I know among 
them. {Utters a cry.) Tom ! Oh, no, no, no! Not 
Tom ! {Starts to her feet and puts her hand to her head 
distractedly.) It cannot be true ! It cannot be true ! 
I — I must have been deceived. I have been so afraid 
of reading his name ever since he went away that 
now I imagine it to be there. ( Commences to open paper 
again, then stops.) What if it is true? {Chokingly.) 
Then baby is all that is left to me. But, no, no ; it 
cannot be. {Hastily opens the paper , sees her husband' 1 s 
name, and after staring at it a few moments, whispers in- 
tensely) Tom ! {Slowly raises the paper to her lips and 
kisses the name.) Tom ! ( With a far-away look in her 

eyes — tearing the paper to pieces while she talks.) We 


19 


THE SOLDIER’S RETURN 

were so happy together. We loved one another so 
devotedly. I remember when we were married four 
short years ago — four long, long years ago — ever} T - 
thing seemed so bright. The future held only hap- 
piness. Then came the war. The cruel war, that 
tore loved ones apart, that murdered men and broke 
the hearts of women. And now he is dead ! Dead ! 
and little Tom and I are left alone. (. Approaches 
cradle and stands beside it) ( Thoughtfully .) “ If your 
child had no parents we could take him.” He would 
have a good home then, and would never know what 
it is to be hungry. ( After a 'pause.) Yes, I will go 
away. ( To the baby.) Then I shall be at rest and 
you will be happy. They will tell you how dearly I 
loved you, and you will learn to care for my memory. 
(. Kneels beside the cradle and supposedly kisses the baby.) 
Good-bye, little Tom. It is for your sake I go. Good- 
bye. Good-bye. ( Tiptoes toward the door. The 
orchestra begins to play a familiar military march very 
softly , as though a band were approaching . The woman 
stops on the door's threshold and listens.) Hark ! Tom’s 
regiment ! It has returned and he is not with it. 
(Arousing from her stupor. Vehemently.) Oh ! why is 
Heaven so cruel ? What have I done to deserve this 
blow ? I cannot live without Tom. I will end it 
all — here ! Now ! (The music is growing louder and 
louder.) I will spring from the window. Yes; and 
die — and die ! (Rushes to the window.) (The regiment 
by this time is supposed to be in the street below. The 
orchestra is loudly playing a lively march. The woman 
hastily opens the window , hesitates a moment , then leans 


20 


THE SOLDIER’S RETURN 

forward eagerly and utters a glad cry.) Tom ! Can it 
be? Yes, yes ! It is he ! He sees me ! He smiles 
and waves his hand. Tom ! ( Runs down stage , laugh- 
ing and crying hysterically and bends over the cradle.) 
Tom ! Tom ! Tom ! 

(quick curtain) 


/ 


AN AFTERNOON TEA 


Mrs. Sinclair is holding a day “at home” when she dis • 
penses tea to any friends who chance to call. A young 
society swell is among the first. He enters , slowly 
drawing off his gloves. 

0 Supposedly sees Mrs. Sinclair behind the tea-table.') 
How-de-do, Mrs. Sinclair? ( In reply to her welcome.) 
Thanks awfully. (She is supposed to hold out her 
hand.) One moment, until I draw off this beastly 
glove. ( Tugging at it until it comes off.) There! 
(Shakes hands with her.) Awfully glad to see you. 
Yes, really. (In reply) No, you’re right — I don’t 
enjoy calling — I — I beg pardon — I mean, you know, 
I never call except — except where I want to. (In 
reply) Of course I mean it. (Sits. After a pause.) 
Pleasant weather. Eh ? Raining ? Oh, yes ! yes. 
So it was. I quite forgot it, you know. (In reply to 
an invitation to take a cup of tea) If you please. Oh ! 
— I — I adore tea. Yes, really. (In reply) Both, 
thank you. (After pause — as though a subject for con- 
versation has suddenly occurred to him.) Oh, I say ! 
how is the — the baby? (In reply) I’m so glad. 
(Hesitating.) Has she — has she— He ? Of course, 
of course. I quite forgot its gender. I don’t sup- 
pose it makes very much difference anyway. Has 

21 


22 


AN AFTERNOON TEA 


he sprouted any teeth yet? (In reply) Three? 
How very encouraging. Only five months? You 
don’t say. Let me see — three teeth in five months. 
At that rate it will have six in ten months, and nine 
in fifteen. (In reply — Mrs. Sinclair having offered to 
bring the baby) Oh, don’t trouble yourself! I — I’ve 
seen it, you know. Delighted, of course, but — but — 
I hate to bother you. Besides, suppose some one 
should call before you return ? (In reply) Enter- 
tain them? Oh! I couldn’t. (Calling after her) I 
say, you know — I say, please don’t be long. (Sitting 
in the chair Mrs. Sinclair had occupied behind the tea- 
table.) I don’t want to see the thing, anyway. I’m 
not a connoisseur in babies. The nurse always 
wraps them up so I can’t tell their heads from their 
feet. I won’t know what to say to it, either. My 
vocabulary is limited. I have half a mind to go — 
but no, that would be so horribly rude. I’ll have to 
face the music. It’s to be hoped the thing won’t 
practice while I am here. I wouldn’t have come at 
all, if Miss Miller had not said that she was coming. 
She’s so jolly attractive. And I believe she thinks 
me so, too. By Jove ! Here’s my cup of tea getting 
cold. ( Takes the cup from the table and tastes the tea.) 
My ! (Shivers.) Glace. I pity the other callers. 
(Puts some sugar and weam in the cup , and is about to 
pour tea , when Miss Miller is supposed to enter. Rising , 
greatly embarrassed.) Oh! how-de-do, Miss Miller? 
(Advances to meet her with the tea-pot in his hand.) Such 
an unexpected pleasure. Yes, really. (Holds out his 
hand , then noticing that he holds the tea-pot , withdraws it 


AN AFTERNOON TEA 


23 


quickly and in so doing pours some tea upon the floor,) 
By Jove ! Rather — rather wet weather we are having, 
aren’t we ? ( After a pause — in reply) Oh, yes ! Mrs. 

Sinclair is at home. She went to bring the baby, 
you know. It has got teeth or something. Won’t 
you sit down ? (Rests his hand upon the tea-pot.) 
Ouch ! (Places the teapot vpcm the chair behind the 
table.) Mrs. Sinclair will be here presently. She — 
she told me to entertain you — that is, you know, you 
and any one who might call. Have some tea ? Do. 
Of course I know how. (Goes behind the table and 
puts cream and sugar into a cup.) What did I do 
with the tea-pot ? (Sits upon it.) Golly ! (Apologe- 
tically.) I beg pardon. Involuntary, I assure you. 
That old pot seems to have taken a special antipathy 
to me. (Pours tea into a cup and holds it out to Miss 
Miller.) There. I’ll put it on the table until you 
have taken off your gloves. (Places the cup an the 
table.) Certainly I will join you. I have a cup 
here. ( Takes up his cup and drinks. After a pause. 
In reply) More cream ? Certainly. (Puts down his 
cup and at the same time , without looking , pours the 
cream into the sugar bowl which he had placed beside 
Miss Miller'’ s cup. Noticing his mistake.) O by J ove ! 
(Pours the cream into Miss Miller’s cup.) Beg pardon ! 
Sugar? (Takes up the sugar bowl and examines the 
contents.) Really, you know, I think your tea must 
6e sweet enough. Fact is, the sugar is somewhat 
adulterated. I’m horribly sorry. Terribly so. Why, 
I would give you the moon if I owned it, Miss 
Miller. Yes, really. (Aside) By Jingo ! I believe 


24 


AN AFTERNOON TEA 


she blushed. I — I think I’ll propose. If Mrs. Sin- 
clair and that — that thing will only keep away I 
could do it in three minutes. Ahem ! ( In reply) 

Oh, no — I didn’t ask anything, did you ? No, I — I 
thought not. But I was going to say — when you 
interrupted me — Eh ? Oh, no ! — you were not rude — 
not at all. (A pause.) I — I was about to remark — • 
( Rising , with a cup of tea in one hand and the tea-pot in 
the other) — that is, you know, I have often wondered 
whether you ever think seriously of — of me, you 
know. Eh! You couldn’t? Oh! but I say, you — 
you don’t understand. I mean — have you ever con- 
sidered the question of — of matrimony ? (In reply) 
But don’t you think it’s time you did ? No, no — I 
don’t mean that. What I intended to say was — 
(gesticulates and hits the cup and tea-pot together. Mut- 
ters impatiently under his breath and puts the cup on the 
table.) To continue, Miss Miller — (Approaches her. 
Trips over a mat by the table and pours out the tea — 
supposedly upon Miss Miller's dress.) Oh ! ten thou- 
sand pardons. I — I — I am so sorry. (Backs into the 
table and knocks off the cup.) By Jove ! (In reply) 
Please don’t he angry, Miss Miller. I didn’t intend 
to ruin your dress — no, really. (Following her around 
the room.) I — I was proposing to you, you know. 
Don’t follow you ? But I must — to the ends of the 
earth. I — I — I am in love — horribly so. 

(Exits — supposedly after Miss Miller — holding the tea « 
pot befor* him . Trips over the mat by the door.) 


IN IMMINENT PERIL 


Scene: Lady’s sitting-room, furnished handsomely. 
A coat is lying on a chair. 

Character: A young wife. 

Properties: A mousetrap. 

Entering. ( Putting on her hat.) I must make haste. 
Harry will be calling me in a minute. ( Standing be - 
fore the mirror and looking at herself admiringly.) I’m 
sure he will admire my new hat. He ought to, for 
the bill will be large enough. ( Thoughtfully .) I’m 
almost afraid that when he knows just how much it 
cost, he — but no, why should he he angry ? He told 
me to be sure and buy something pretty and stylish, 
and there wasn’t another I could possibly wear, but 
that one with the high crown, and it was so cheap it 
was perfectly hideous. This one is a beauty, and if 
Harry’s taste is not — (stopping as if listening.) Hark ! 
he’s calling. (Calling in reply) Yes. In a minute. 
I’m coming. (Gives her hair a last touch. Calling) 
Mary ! Mary ! ( To the servant who supposedly enters.) 

Oh, there you are. I want you to help me on with 
my coat, please. Tell me, is my hat straight? (In 
reply) You like it. Yes — I think it is quite pretty. 
(Surveys herself in the mirror.) The very latest style. 
( Turns and trips over something by the mirror.) What’s 

25 


26 


IN IMMINENT PERIL. 


that? Oh, the mousetrap I told you to set. Did 
you catch that nasty little beast? No? ( Looking 
about the room nervously .) Then it is running around 
here yet ? What a fright it gave me ! (Shudders.) 
I’m sure it was fully a foot long. (In reply) No, 
Mary, scarcely two feet. It wasn’t a rat, you know. 
But I must hurry. If you’ll just hold my coat. 
(Thinking she sees something under a chair.) Oh! 
what’s that? (Uttering a scream.) Oh! there it is 
again. That horrid mouse ! (Shakes her skirts agita- 
tedly and springs upon a chair.) Oh! (To the maid , 
hysterically.) Quick ! Jump on a chair ! Make haste ! 
That’s right. (A pause.) What shall we do ? (In 
reply) No, of course I won’t call Mr. Burton. I 
wouldn’t have him see me perched up here for the 
world. Now don’t cry that way, Mary. Stop ! do 
you hear me ? There is nothing to be frightened 
about, a mouse won’t eat you. (Bending over and 
looking cautiously on the floor.) I don’t see it. Per- 
haps it has gone into the next room. ( Quickly, agi- 
tated'. ) No, there it is — there, under your chair. Oh ! 
what if it should climb up? (Shakes her skirts and 
jumps up and down on the chair.) (Calling) Mary, 
Mary, don’t leave me. Come back. Oh ! what shall 
I do ? I’m all alone with that — that horrid brute. If 
I only dared to jump down and run, but if. I should 
put my foot to the floor. (Shuddering.) Oh ! the 
mere thought makes my flesh creep. (Listening.) 
Hark ! Q4.s if answering her husband’s call.) Yes, I’m 
coming, Harry. I’m almost ready. Just as soon 
as I put on my coat. Oh ! what is to be done ? If 


IN IMMINENT PERIL 


27 


he should come up and see me in such a ridiculous 
position, he would tease me all the rest of my life. 
{Looking at her watch.') It’s eight o’clock; and the 
opera begins at a quarter after. I must do some- 
thing desperate, for I can’t remain here all night. 
{Looking all around her chair.) Perhaps it ran out 
after Mary. {Slowly puts down one foot almost to the 
floor , then hurriedly draws it up again.) No, no, I 
couldn’t. {Reaches over and draws to her the chair upon 
which her coat is lying.) I might as well put on my 
coat at any rate. {Takes her coat from the chair and 
puts it on.) { Thoughtfidly.) If only I could manage 
to reach the door somehow. Let ine see — I w r onder 
if these chairs could be used as boys do stilts. 
{Placing one chair in front of her and after stepping upon 
it , draws the other chair around before her.) There’s an 
advantage in having been considered a tom-boy once. 
{Repeats business and gradually approaches the door , 
talking all the while.) This is not a very dignified 
mode of locomotion, nor very rapid transit, but if I 
can reach the door, I’ll jump down and get away 
from that horrid — {Stoops and looks around the floor.) 
Oh, Harry’s calling again. {Calling in reply) Yes, 
yes; right away. Don’t come up; I hear you. 
{Hurriedly progresses toward the door.) I’m coming; 
I’m coming. {Gathers her skirts around her and 
springs from the chair.) I’m coming. 

Exits {hurriedly.) 


WHERE WAS I? 


Scene: A dining-room — A formal dinner. 
Character: An old beau. 

Time: Evening. 

Properties: Knife, fork, plate, etc. 

Entering. — 

( To the lady — supposedly upon his arm.) 

Charmed to escort you, I’m sure. 

An unlooked for pleasure, Miss Brown. 

— It is ages since last we met — 

When did you move to town ? 

(In reply ) Two months ago ? Really ! — oh, no ! 
(Hesitating). But I — I’ve been very busy this fall. 
(Pause as if listening to Miss B.) I could not forget. 
(As if assisting Miss B. to a seat at table.) Had I known 
I would surely have come to call. 

(Sits. After glancing at lady supposedly upon his right.) 
(To Miss B.) Miss Brown, can you tell me the name 
Of the — a — elderly maid on my right? 

I have met her somewhere. (Pause. In reply) Oh, 
Jones ! 

( Confidentially , with hand to mouth.) Her hair is a 
regular sight. 

(Pause as if listening to Miss B.) A worker in mis- 
sions ? 

28 


WHERE WAS I? 29 

She looks like a leader in that sort of thing. 

{Pause as if listening to Miss B. Laughing .) You 
don’t say ? 

Old-fashioned hymns? 

I should like to hear her sing. 

That reminds me — A story I heard 
Of an opera singer who tried 
To sing amidst interruptions 
And remarks on every side. 

(. Becoming interested in his story.) 

It was at a performance and he — 

(In reply to Miss Jones on his right.) 

Beg pardon? Yes — that is your glass. 

(To Miss B., continuing his story.) And-- 
(In reply to request from across the table.) Almonds ? 
(Looking about table.) Ah, here ! (As if handing 
almonds across table.) Not at all. 

I’m sure they are easy to pass. 

(To Miss B.) What was I saying? Oh, yes! 

This man tried to warble a song, 

And when interrupted — 

(In reply to a question from Miss Jones.) No — never. 
My interest is not very strong 
In missions. (Listens to Miss J. In reply) Oh! 
that may be true. 

— Well, no — perhaps you are right — 

But the question appears to me 
In a very different light. (A pause.) 

— Don’t mention it — oh ! certainly — 

I can readily understand. 

(To Miss B.) As I was saying, Miss Brown — 


30 


WHERE WAS I? 


( To waiter, who offers lobster.) What’s this, waiter ? 
{Pleased.) Lobster? {About to take some. Then 
hesitates.) Canned ? 

{Apparently satisfied that the lobster' is fresh.) All 
right. 

{Helps himself and begins to eat. A pause.) 

{Is reminded of the story by Miss B.) Oh, yes ! yes — 
of course, 

The people began to — to jibe 

The singer — when — {Is interrupted by Miss J.) 

{In reply) Well, no — Miss Jones, 

I don’t think I care to subscribe. 

{Decidedly.) I think not. 

{To waiter, who offers wine.) Eh? Claret? A little. 
{As if holding glass.) That will do. 

{Sharply.) Quite sufficient — no more. 

{To Miss B.) Where was I, Miss Brown? By the 
way, 

Have you heard the story before ? 

{Laughing.) It’s awful funny. I read it 
In — Puck I believe. Well, this man 
Attempted to sing, don’t you know, 

But as soon as — as he began, 

The audience — {In reply to Miss J.) No, no ; Miss 
Jones — 

I have nothing I care to give. 

If I gave to all, what would I 

Have left upon which to live ? {A pause.) 

{Crossly.) I cannot assist you. I’m sorry, 

But missions are not in my line. 

{To Miss B . — after a pause.) This singer attempted to— 


WHERE WAS I? 


31 


‘(Is again interrupted by Miss J. Very decidedly .) No, 
Miss Jones — 

I’ll have to decline. ( A slight pause.) 

(In reply to Miss J.) It may be hard on the heathen, 
But really I do not care. 

(In reply to Miss B.) My story ? (Rising and offering 
arm.) Let’s go to the parlor. 

Perhaps I can finish it there. 

EXIT 


DARLING JENNIE 


Scene: A sitting-room. 

Character: A young bachelor. 

Time: Seven -thirty a. m. 

Properties: Watch, writing materials. 

Entering. 

I’ll do it, by jingo ! I’ll do it — 

And the sooner accomplished, the better. 

(. Drawing a chair to the writing table and sitting . ) 
I haven’t the courage when with her — 

So why not propose in a letter ? 

I’ll send it this morning. 

( Looking at watch.') 

Seven-thirty. 

She ought to receive it at noon. 

0 Selecting paper, etc.) 

Her reply will arrive by this evening — 

That won’t be a minute too soon. 

( Thoughtfully.) 

Perhaps it may make her angry — • 

Perhaps it may make her laugh. 

How can I await her decision ? 

0 Struck with a sudden idea.) 

I’ll ask her to telegraph. 

32 


DARLING JENNIE 


33 


( Taking up a pen.) 

But what shall I write? That I love her? 

She’s known that for fully a year. 

{After a moment’s thought.) 

That I cannot exist without her ! 

{Hesitating.) 

She wouldn’t believe it, I fear. 

No — I’ll simply inform her, in brief, 

That bachelorhood is my station — 

But — with her consent — I’m inclined 
To make a complete alteration. 

{Dips the pen in the ink and writes.) 

“ Dear — Miss — White.” 

{Looks at it a moment , then tears paper into pieces.) 
That’s too formal when writing, 

To tell of my love — she would doubt it. 

( Thoughtfully.) 

I’d better — I’d better begin 

With some passionate phrase — while about it. 

( Thinks a moment. Then is struck with an inspiration 
and writes.) 

“ Darling Jennie ” — that’s it — “ Darling Jennie ; 
Words — cannot — express — when — I — say — ” 

{In answer to a knock at the door.) 

Well? Come in ! What is it you wish, Kate? 
{Aside.) 

I wish she had kept away. 

{As if in reply.) 

The milkman ? What of him ? Not come yet ? 

3 


34 


DARLING JENNIE 


Well, I’m not to blame if he’s late — 

You should tell him to be here more promptly. 

{A slight pause.) 

All right. 

( Turns to his writing. Then calls after Kate.) 

Don’t wait breakfast, Kate. 

( Thoughtfully .) 

Let me see — 

(. Reading what he has written.) 

“ Darling Jennie ; words cannot 
Express when I say ” — I’ve forgot. 

{Holding pen above the paper and reading .) 

“ Words cannot express when I say ” — 

By Jove ! if that isn’t a blot. 

( Tears the paper into pieces. Selects another sheet and 
begins to write.) 

“ Darling Jennie ” — 

{In reply to Kate at the door.) 

Well? What’s the matter? 

I’m busy just now, don’t you see? 

{As if in reply after slight pause.) 

If the butcher brought chops and not kidneys 
It’s his fault — and nothing to me. 

I’ll try it once more. {Reads) “ Darling Jennie ” — 

If I’m interrupted again 

I’ll stop — {Brings down pen emphatically.) 

By jingo ! That’s cheerful. 

I’ve broken my only pen. 


DARLING JENNIE 


35 


( Looks in drawer.') 

Here’s another, an old one. ’Twill do 
To copy the thoughts from my heart. 

(. Fitting pen in penholder.) 

But how can I finish this letter 
If I’m never able to start ? 

{Reading.) 

“ Darling Jennie ” — 

(Struck ivith an idea and writes .) 

As — we — danced — together — 

Last — summer — at Germans — and — hops — 

I — wondered 

(Thoughtfully tapping the pen on the desk.) 

Now what did I wonder ? 

My thoughts are on kidneys and chops. 

(Reading.) 

“ I wondered (writes) if ” 

(Listening. ) 

What is that ringing ? 

( Turning to the letter again.) 

No doubt it’s some bell in the street. 

(Reading.) 

11 1 wondered if ” — 

(Stops and listens. Then looks at watch and rises.) 
What ! breakfast ready ! 

( Going toward door.) 

Confound it ! Why must a man eat ? 


EXIT 





Jf 


A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


SCENE. — A parlor. Enter Percy Remington. He is 

dressed in the latest fashion and wears a glass in one eye. 

Talks in a blast, affected manner throughout. 

Remington. ( looking about the room ) I’m awfully glad 
there’s no one here. It would appear so beastly ignorant 
and unpolished to bring my hat and coat into the parlor. 
But it isn’t my fault, I’m sure. (Places his hat iipon a chair.) 
Such a horribly rude maid ! And so verdant ! She screamed 
at me as if I were a — a — a lackey. The idea ! I wish they 
would postpone sweeping the house when I call. It’s such 
a deuced dusty welcome, don’t you know. The maid didn’t 
seem to know how soon Miss Carter would return and I 
really can’t say that she appeared to care, either. I — I sup- 
pose I had better await her. Now that I have fully deter- 
mined to propose, the sooner it’s over the better. (Starts 
to take off his overcoat : then hesitates with his coat partly off.) 
But — but what’s the rush ? To-morrow will do quite as well, 
I’m sure. (Puts o?i his overcoat again.) I — I don’t wish to 
do anything that I might regret, don’t you know. (Takes 
up his hat) (Hesitating) But why should I defer the inevit- 
able ? I really can’t see the advantage of a postponement. 
When a fellow decides to marry, he might as well conclude 
the preliminaries as soon as possible. ( Taking off his over- 
coat and placing it with his hat upon a chair) Proposing is 
such a dreadful bore at any rate, don’t you know. Yes, I’ll 
do it to-day. I wonder why women consider me so inter- 
esting. They do — for their manner proves it. What is it 
about me that attracts ? Is it because I take so little inter- 
est in them ? Why should I ? I never interest myself in any- 
thing — it’s so frightfully fatiguing. Perhaps women admire 
me because I — I am so very different from the other fellows. 
Perhaps — (Stops before the mirror and gazes at his reflection , 
admiringly) Yes — that’s it. It’s my eye-glass and the way 
I brush my hair. That is certainly a charming mirror; 
awfully charming. Strange I never noticed it before. How 
well a portrait of one of the family would look in that frame. 
But which one of the family ? Not her father — he is too fear- 
fully stumpy. I — I suppose the artist might enlarge him to 

5 


6 


A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


the required size, but what about his whiskers ? They woulc 
have to be enlarged also, and there is entirely too much o f 
them as it is. Her mother’s portrait might — ( breaking of 
shortly) By Jove! I had forgotten the mother. ( Goes to 
chair and takes up his overcoat.) If I marry the daughter, I 
will acquire a mother-in-law. (. Putting on his overcoat.) A 
mother-in-law with a great deal of avoirdupois, too. She’s 
an awfully weighty objection. But why should I object ? 
Every one acknowledges her to be a terribly fascinating 
woman. ( Taking off his overcoat and again placing it upon 
a chair) All the fellows will envy me my fortune in winning 
such a mother-in-law. I wish Miss Carter would return. 

( Gazing into the mirror) A portrait to do that frame justice, 
should be of some one with a distinguished bearing and fine 
physique ; some one — I wonder why I never sat for a por- 
trait. I’ll do it after we are married — Yes, and I’ll exhibit 
it in the Academy. Then all the fellows will point 
me out to strangers as “ the lucky dog who won the reign- 
ing belle of the season.” I’m awfully glad now, that I 
have decided to marry Miss Carter: it will be such a jolly 
good joke on Freddie Stanton. He has been entirely too 
attentive all winter. I — I can’t understand how women 
can endure him. He is so horribly frivolous and continu- 
ally criticising people’s appearance. I hate a critic. 
(< Carelessly takes up a card from the card-plate upon the table. 
Reading) “ Mrs. Nicholas Hofstetter.” She is that corpulent 
old Dutch woman. {Reading another card) “Countess 
Prudenheim.” Countess, indeed! From the way she is 
continually talking about her title, you might think she was 
some one, instead of the wife of a bankrupt gambler. {Read- 
ing another card) “ Mr. Frederick Stanton.” Just look at 
that card. Why it’s perfectly huge ! {Reading another card ) 
“ Mr. Frederick Stanton.” He doesn’t know the first princi- 
ples of correct form or etiquette. ( Taking up another card) 
And here’s another. Well, this is certainly too much ! His 
attentions are becoming perfectly obnoxious. ( Taking up a 
book from the table ; turns to title-page and reads) “ Miss 
Carter, from her sincere friend, Fred — ” {breaking off) 
How insolent — terribly insolent! The idea of his present- 
ing her with a book — poems, too. He hasn’t intellect 
enough to write poetry himself. ( Turns over the pages of 
the book. Finding a photograph) What! Freddie’s photo- 
graph. He is impudence and conceit personified. The 
very next time we meet, I — I’ll give him a portion of my 
mind — a large portion, too. Why, I’m in a horrible rage — 
a perfect frenzy, don’t you know. {Seeing a letter lying 


A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


7 


upon the table') No doubt that letter is from him, too. 
( Takes up the letter and starts .) Eh ! What’s this ? W — w 
— why that’s my name — and in Miss Carter’s handwriting. 
It’s stamped and sealed all ready to be sent : I wonder why 
it hasn’t been mailed. Probably it’s an invitation tc dinner 
or to take a drive. I — I’ll read it. ( Opens the letter and 
reads) “ My dear Mr. Remington ; I am writing to my 
most intimate friends to announce my engage — ” ( breaks 

off shortly : then hurriedly finishes the letter and utters an 
exclamation) Freddie — Stanton ! (Slmvly and with an 
extremely dejected air , tears the letter into fragments. Then 
takes his hat and coat from the chair and exits, dragging his 
coat after him by the sleeve) 














' 



















. 

- 








. 





























































































Lb NTS 



























* % 












































C 











